


Transient Stars

by fulcrumstardust, halflingmerry



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: (a lot of pining), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Angst, Angst City with HEA, Blood and Violence, Broken People Falling In Love, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, First Love, Hurt/Comfort, Intergalactic Will They/Won’t They, Jyn as a sex worker, Past Rape/Non-con, Pining, Separatist Jyn Erso, Sharing a Bed, Slow Burn, Spy Cassian Andor, Touch-Starved, UST for days, cooperating at cross purposes, everyone’s undercover, spy ops, the spy's date, yes it's a reference
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:35:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 119,967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23092699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fulcrumstardust/pseuds/fulcrumstardust, https://archiveofourown.org/users/halflingmerry/pseuds/halflingmerry
Summary: 《 I wish we'd met somewhere else. 》Ord Mantell,  3275 LY/2 BBY.In the shadows of the Imperial-occupied city, sex-worker "Nova Sande" meets government agent "Gabrael Willix". Neither can burn their undercover idents—but if words can lie, the touch of another soul is unfalsifiable. Until their missions start to collide, forcing them to make a choice.
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso
Comments: 486
Kudos: 420





	1. Orbital Intersection

**01: Orbital Intersection**

> Ord Mantell, Mid Rim Territories  
>  3275 LY/2 BBY **  
> **

“How did I let you talk me into this?” muttered Cassian like it was banter.

Eoghan had clapped a hand to his shoulder and hadn’t let go. “You asked how the undercity operates. This, _hevalê min, temanku, mijn vriend,_ is the heart of it.”

_It’s **some** organ of it._

This wasn’t the worst brothel Cassian had been in. These workers weren’t trafficked or enslaved. Neither was it the best, where everyone had fully chosen to be there and could also choose to leave. This was the most common: everyone had _technically_ chosen to be there, but mostly because there were no other, or only worse, choices. Giving _and_ not giving money to such places were lose-lose.

He couldn’t stomach faking enjoyment. No hope of salvaging any genuinely. Not with such unequal power. If that was how it was going to be, he’d only do it if _he_ were the less-than-enthusiastically-willing one. But Eoghan & co. were paying for this visit, and you didn’t turn down gifts from your employers while trying to prove you were one of them. Not when, as ever, Cassian’s motivations were not about himself. So: here we feking are.

“Gentlemen,” said the hostess with a practiced smile and Imperial binary. “See anything you like?”

Jactna feking pfassk.

Around the room of the rundown establishment, a few strangers killed time one way or another. Most of them presented female, almost all of them Human. Now that’s what you call a direct impact of Imperial occupation: not so keen on interspecies ~~experiences~~ _anything._ Cassian would bet the place had seen a very different crowd back in the day.

Almost all the workers (apparently) happily chit-chat with one another, drinking a strong-scented tea, playing cards, walking around with enticing smiles for anyone eager to catch it. A few looks washed over Cassian, standing in the middle of the room (feeling) like a predator. Either they were too desensitized to their profession or too skilled at concealing their resentment because not one smile faltered.

Then he found someone _not_ smiling at him. Not glaring either, simply existing in the same space as him with a neutral stance. Barely an inconvenience to her day—and surely not paid enough to indulge in mannerisms and fake enthusiasm. She sat cross-legged on a lone chair with her back to the wall, brown hair flowing over her shoulders. Her whole outfit was delicate enough that it left few things to the imagination, all gauze and silk. She could have been wearing a flight suit with reinforced plate-carrier with the exact same body language. She didn’t appear to _kill time_ in any sort of way, her eyes focused and sharp, her fingers mindlessly tapping a rhythm on her thigh.

If anything, time appeared to kill _her._ Waiting for something in a sad place like this one.

She didn’t move under his insistent examination, didn’t break contact either. She never stopped tapping her fingers, as if it was the only part of her she allowed to transcribe any type of reaction. There was no telling what sort of reaction it entailed.

Eoghan was already on his way upstairs with his worker of choice and no backwards glance. Cassian looked at the hostess out of courtesy, but didn’t use her as an intermediary either. Instead, he crossed to the woman who hadn’t smiled. A second’s analysis; then he offered her his hand.

“What a choice,” she said, a barely perceptible hint of sarcasm in her tone. “Let me show you the way, then.” Placing her hand in his own, she willingly got up (shorter than he thought, barely reaching his chin) and directed them towards the staircase.

The old planks of wood creaked under the sole of his boots while her bare feet climbed in a relatively quiet motion. Used to it, probably. On the upper floor, a long corridor displayed anonymous doors. She walked up to the third one on the left and stepped into a dark room, lit by burning candles despites the last ray of sunlight still trying to pierce through heavy curtains. It didn’t seem as if the bedroom served only a showcase purpose—rather that someone actually _lived_ here. Clothes on hangers, cosmetic products on a dresser, a lonely cup by the nightstand. It only made it worse for Cassian. Not enough to be complicit in an exploitative business, he was intruding on someone’s off-hours world.

“So, what do you have in mind?” As she turned around to face him, she finally let go of his hand. “I’ll let you know that we’re on a standard-hour basis, but we could always extend…” This time, she offered a smile—one of the most counterfeit he had ever seen.

Cassian had already taken in the room. For impressions' sake, he wandered further and touched a surface. “I was told we’re prepaid for three hours.” (Optimistic and/or a dominance move for Cassian’s benefit—Eoghan saying _See how long **I** can go?_) Cassian turned to meet the woman’s eyes. “I’ll let _you_ know: you’re getting that payment no matter what happens. We're not going to engage in any sexual activity. You’re off the hook.”

She raised an eyebrow, not much of a tremendous reaction. “Oh, you’re one of those,” she said, hands on her hips. “What is a bet then, to… _impress_ your friend?”

 _Not my friend._ He wasn’t surprised she found his behavior unoriginal. _Opposite of impress._ All he said was: “Sure."

Further scanning. The curtained window: alternate exit. Visible contents of the nightstand: some objects weaponizable, none direly so. “I wouldn’t mind lying down, though. Talk, sleep… whatever passes the time.” (The escort who’d provided his raven training had shared, among many secrets: _You’d be surprised how much business we do with people who actually want a good nap._ )

She snorted. “You sure look like you could use a nap.” Her voice rang clearer than the moment before, but she subdued fast enough. “Make yourself at home. I’ll happily get paid to hold your hand or brush your hair— it’s your money.” The playful smile at the corner of her lips sparked something golden in her eyes, though the light wasn’t bright enough that he could name their true color.

How he felt at the idea of her hands in his hair… _what?_ Most intimacy made him feel sick. It wasn’t real, or would be dangerous and doomed if it _were._ _This_ idea didn’t do that and that… wasn't preferable. Mirroring her attitude, he said, “You tell all your clients they look bad?”

She again raised an eyebrow, letting out what might have been a laugh. “I didn’t say you looked _bad._ What a _poor_ hostess would I be if I insulted my clients, don’t you think?” She gestured with one hand towards the bed and walked across the space with the ease of habit. “Drinks?”

Still no spontaneous reactions here. Intoxicants didn’t just make his job harder. He’d never had a good trip. The barriers in his mind were excruciatingly built and necessary. Washing them away wasn't his idea of recreation. He should avoid making himself more memorable to her, but… “I’m good. You go ahead, if you want.”

Not waiting, he crossed to the bed and sat to take off his boots. He considered a moment before taking off his jacket. He undid and removed the loaded shoulder holster that had been hidden under it. He set them all on the end-table. Somewhere else, _that_ could play as a threat. On Ord Mantell, it was routine. Letting her see the blaster rather than keep it hidden: a sign of truce.

“Not a player, not a drinker… what are you then?” she asked with a (strangely) unreadable voice.

Trillion-credit question. "Overworked." He finished pulling off his boots.

“I see.” Soft sounds of metal reached his ears as she walked back with two cups in hand— one she rested on the old bedside table within his easy grasp. “It’s blue lemon, usually helps me sleep. It’s hot so don’t burn yourself, I don’t want any liability.”

He accepted the cup and heeded her warning, inhaling some of the steam.

Without further comment, she went to sit on the other side of the large bed, cradling her own cup of tea. Her feet disappeared under a bright red canvas, intricately embroidered with golden threads. Silence fell around them like a careful watcher. Cassian heard the small sigh escaping her lips. “Feel free to come back, I like paid vacations.”

Now why did he say this? “Who do I ask for, if I do?”

“Nova,” she offered without looking at him.

When he was here hunting the Black Sun. Go figure. “Hi, Nova. I’m Gabrael.” He set the cup softly back on the end-table without having drunk from it. “What will you do, while I’m here?”

“I’ll probably watch you relax for a bit— try to rule out that you’re not a psychopath on the loose. Or worse: an actual rebel.”

_Yep. Worse._

She took a sip from the hot beverage. “Maybe I’ll braid my hair. You didn’t say if you wanted me to do something about yours.” There was a hint of mocking somewhere in there. He could almost taste it.

The prospect of watching Nova braid her hair gave him the same shiver as the thought of her touching his. _What?_ He didn’t _get_ urges like this. Not anymore. Even if this urge wasn’t erotic so much as… for… what? (comfort?) _Get a grip._ “I’m due to cut it,” he said, self-deprecating, “but I’m not gonna ask you to do that.”

“It’s a nice length,” she said. She suddenly leaned over and brushed away the strands framing his face. He didn't start. She continued without pause. “But I could do it if you want. Not my first time if it gages of any good.”

…Okay. It might feel better doing something than leaving the nulled contract hanging over them. “Okay. Yeah. If you’re sure you don’t mind.”

He felt the shrug of her response. “I don’t. This is the least unpleasant thing I could be doing right now.”

_Hang on, I don’t want to make you do **anything** unpleasant—_

“Besides, I’m actually not good at vacations but don’t you dare tell my boss.”

The veiled _sincerity_ of the second recontextualized the sarcasm of the first. Hard to trust his objectivity when he actually _(why?) wanted_ something _(what?!)_ , but, to whatever was online of his profiling abilities, she read as… _Uncowed. Unbroken._ Okay. Reevaluate moment to moment. For _this_ one: he decided to take her at her word.

After taking another sip of tea, she was back on her feet, taking the slight warmth of her proximity with her. “I’m going to get some water, don’t try to escape by the window. The last one to attempt the jump ended up with a fractured ankle.”

He decided not to ask. “I promise. I’ll be here.”

⁂  
  


As soon as she was out the door, Jyn felt a cold wave washing over her. Hands by her sides, she walked to the end of the hall, not even registering the sounds of… exertion, excitation, intricate masquerade? filling the upper-floor of the Parallel. She had spent three weeks working in this place and, already, she could distinguish between the voices of her co-workers.

Some of the customer’s ones, too. They seemed to come by rotations. Jyn imagined that they had some type of schedule alternance within their low-tier workforces. She had marked some of them already.

This man was a first. He presented well, acted politely enough, wasn’t overly dominant nor desperately needy ( _blast,_ didn’t even want sex): the two types of people usually found in a whorehouse. She felt intrigued, cautious, too. Maybe it was her weariness being a bad advisor, but Jyn had an itch to find the edge in him— like a sickening competition with herself to see if she was actually capable of doing her deeds. This carefree attitude would get her killed soon enough. She couldn’t play stupid, and she couldn’t play _blindly._

In the shared ’fresher, she retrieved a small bucket from a shelf and let hot water fill it with a soothing sound, silencing her thoughts for a while. She didn’t glance at her reflection. The ridiculous outfit didn’t bother her (the last time she had been in position to be self-conscious about her body would have been at sixteen), but the emptiness in her eyes sometimes still frayed a thread inside of her.

 _Nevermind._ Don’t look, don’t see.

At least she wasn’t adding to the ambiance tonight. Although, Gabrael would have scored a handful of points on her selective list of fuckable people. He had a pleasant face: high cheekbones, sharp jaw, but it was his eyes that had caught most of her attention. Dark, alert, _guarded_... but notably attractive, at least to her tastes. _Not_ like she could wonder about it, because she couldn’t rank the absence of agency. But, somewhere outside of those walls—

Jyn slammed the door shut with her foot, walking back with a bucket of water between her arms and definitely _not_ thinking of a life she didn’t live.

“You didn’t escape,” she shimmed. “Good man.”

“Why would I?” Gabrael was sitting where and how she'd left him. “The amenities and the company are both nicer in here.”

“You must be hanging out with terrible people for having such low standards. That makes my job significantly easier.” Jyn set the bucket on the little round table marking the corner of the room, next to the window. She then turned around to look for a pair of sharp blades among her possessions. Far from the only ones she had hidden in here, but those hadn’t cut much more than inoffensive hair. (Sometimes, the sight was discouraging enough to her audience.)

She pulled a stool next to her, some expectancy in her posture. “Mind coming over here?”

He did so—with military-like (actually military?) straight back and squared shoulders. She registered his body language just like she had taken notice of the blaster. Far from uncommon on Ord Mantell: a cut-throat planet, home of crime syndicates and paradise for bounty hunters. She wondered if he was one of those, a smuggler maybe.

Something in his appearance seemed too polished to fit the pattern. _Not_ his appearance, she retconned. The rigid control in his posture, in his voice. Not to mention, Jyn had never met a mobster that wouldn’t fuck her (never met anyone that wouldn’t abuse the— Not the time… never the time to entertain such thoughts… different life, different Jyn). Imperial, more likely. She would investigate later; maybe Asegga had more insights.

Jyn wrapped a towel around his neck, covering his shoulders. She let her thumbs graze over his collarbones for a handful of seconds, feeling his skin warmer than her own. No sexual interaction didn’t mean no physical touch: she needed the medium to establish a deeper connexion with him. Jyn could hardly hope for a breakthrough if she couldn’t figure how to catch his interest. Thankfully, she was far from a first trial.

(And, indeed, he just might have… shivered, in her wake. If he had any stronger reactions, he hid them.)

“Put your head back a little,” she asked, guiding him with one hand behind his neck. He did at once—at odds with his regimentality, very… trusting.

She used her other hand to scoop some water with an empty cup and pour it over him. Not enough to drip down his shoulder, just so she could wet his hair and wash away any residual product he might have used. Jyn combed through it with her fingers in slow movements, messing around until his hair was damp all over and easy to cut.

It had been a hot minute since she had to do this—but she hadn’t lied about her ‘qualifications’. Right after Verisin, her first solo assignment had been in a barbershop. People talked an awful lot when they were convinced the ears belonged to a nobody. She had picked some skills along the way; this was no different.

Her brain registering the distinct smell of his wet hair: _this_ was unusual. Something inside her coiled. She ignored it. “Just a trim?”

He laughed. He was the kind who laughed without voice; only breath. “Sorry. I usually do this myself. But, yeah. Thanks. —Unless you know any Naboo styles.”

Jyn kept her smile to herself. _Funny guy._ She reached for the wooden comb she usually used to detangle her bangs and the pair of scissors. Grabbing some strands between her index and middle finger, she let the sharp blades take off about two centimeters of hair before moving to the next section. The automatism of her gestures slowly came back to her. Her model didn’t move a single muscle, which she thought was… interesting.

She still had to determine whether or not he was trained to suppress any sort of instinctive response— could make things a lot harder for her down the line. Jyn was a great con artist. Behavioral analysis required a bit more than just an obscene affinity to lies. “I bet this isn’t how you envisioned your evening.”

“No,” he agreed. “How about you?”

“I tend not to envision my evenings at all… you know, keeps the suspense going.” Gabrael’s eyes flickered to hers far too perceptively. She quickly added, “Is this your thing then? Getting to whorehouses for nap and haircut? That’s an expensive trim you’re getting.”

His eyes dropped abruptly. “No. Not my thing.” Gently, he moved his hand in front of where hers were working—waving her away. And he stood from the stool. “We don’t have to keep doing this. I can go—leave you alone.”

Jyn’s hands froze mid-air, an honest surprise painted across her features.

_Miscalculations._

She swiftly got a hold of herself, frowning in defense. “I’d rather have you stay, I don’t want to explain why my client left in a rush.” She made a conscious effort to soften the tone of her voice then (which she found wasn’t so much of a travesty of her genuine feelings. _Weird._ ) “Plus you can’t walk around with only half a haircut, that would be a real shame.”

She refrained from laughing, not entirely confident he wouldn’t take offense in her sarcasm. _Why are you bringing your conscience in a place like this? Who are you, Gabrael?_

“Please,” Jyn pointed at the stool, “we don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.”

Being silent—that, at least, Jyn was well used to. _Don’t make any sounds, don’t complain, don’t get noticed. Maybe they’ll forget about you, maybe they’ll beat up someone else._

_—What’s your name?_

_—Liana._

_—Can we be friends, Liana?_

Gabrael, with a strange but soft expression, nodded and sat back down. “I didn’t mean… I mean: I like hearing you speak. I’d just rather hear about you than talk about me.”

For a nanosecond, Jyn almost let the words sink into her core. But this man wanted to hear about Nova, and Nova was nothing but a lie. The bitterness stung without reason, unwelcome, unexpected. Jyn moved behind his back to escape his attention. She resumed the trimming of his hair, attentively combing over the nape of his neck. (Sparking another reaction he had, less successfully this time, to hide. Note for her dossier: his neck was very sensitive.) Her fingers brushed against his skin without pressure, the steady sound of scissors to punctuate her thoughts.

“I’m afraid of the dark,” Jyn said—and she knew this had nothing to do with Nova but, sometimes, the best lies were half-truths. “That’s why there's so many candles in here. I should move somewhere with at least two suns, don’t you think?”

“No night at all?”

“Shorter nights, maybe.” _Yes, shorter nights would be nice._ She didn’t say it out loud; something told her that she didn’t need to. Jyn angled the blades right below his earlobe. _Comb. Cut. Brush. Repeat._ Her forearm rested over his shoulder like a guide, drawing her a bit closer in his orbit.

Had he tilted his head into her touch? It could just be relative. For the most part, he stayed uncommonly still. “You might like Halcyon. Binary star system. Multiple moons, when it _is_ night. Native sparkstones. If all else failed, you’d always have means to light a fire.”

Jyn hadn’t expected an actual _suggestion._ “Interesting,” she said, trying to place his warm accent. Definitely not Mantellian, unlikely Mid-Rimean. “Have you ever been there?”

“Not in a while. And not for long.” Yes, he definitely leaned a little into her arm. If his breathing and heart rate were anything to go by… slower and softer than even a few minutes ago…

She moved again, placing herself on the other side of his body to mirror her previous actions. The feel of his wet hair between her fingers starting to capture way too much of her cognitive functions. Maybe it was the… innocence of it. Gentleness, she thought. When was the last time someone had just sat there talking to her (short of anything resembling Falleen insults)?

Jyn bent her knees, leveling her line of sight with her blades. Wouldn’t want to mess up that job. “I’ll go and see for myself someday,” she absently commented, focused on the task at hand. Or focused on the position of _her_ hand. Something… about an urge to brush hair behind his ear. _Stupid thing to do._

Jyn didn’t do stupid things (definitely, almost, never).

Gabrael was silent for a while, so motionless he might have fallen asleep. Until: “Were you born here?”

She considered lying, she considered carefulness and she considered _Nova._

“No, I was born on Vallt,” Jyn said. It might have grazed too close to that person she couldn’t be anymore. Not here. Not with him— maybe not with anyone. She didn’t expect it to hurt after all those years, but Jyn had the brutal displeasure to discover it still did. If her hand momentarily faltered, she hoped he didn’t notice.

He didn’t show it, if he did. “That’s an ice planet, right? Don’t blame you for wanting more suns.”

“The iciest you can get. I’m not equipped for subzero temperatures. Besides,” Jyn mocked, “I’m pale enough as it is.” She set the little comb aside, going back to run her fingers against his scalp. Maybe not _entirely_ motivated by any sort of haircut.

Yes, a definite catch of breath at that touch. He covered almost seamlessly: “Something wrong with that? You’d be in vogue on Coruscant.”

Jyn didn’t want to be in vogue _anywhere_ but, to her own surprise, she found the heart to laugh. Not in echo to his words but to the sound of his voice: warmer, closer. “Nothing wrong with pale, I blend in masterfully with snow… easy camouflage.”

His hand came up again. This time, it didn’t wave her off. It… reached, inviting _her_ hand (indeed paler than his) to bring nearer his eyes. “Not snow. Maybe crystal. …There’s such a thing as a _nova crystal._ Did you know?”

Two different trajectories entered her mind at once, colliding without warning like a spark of dizziness. The first one: _why are you holding my hand? why does it feel like you know how to hold_ my _hand?_ The second had nothing to do with this one man and everything to do with Jyn’s ghosts.

“Really?” she asked, innocently enough, “I don’t know much about crystals.”

“No,” said Gabrael, “me, neither.” He released her hand as gently as he’d taken it, letting his own fall to his knee.

Jyn chastized herself for almost mourning the loss of his touch—but it was only natural, she thought. She missed the gentleness of someone. This wasn’t about him, or even herself, just the longing of a body for something other than violence and desperation. For something other than what her life had been since she had lost her home (twice).

Jyn pressed her lips together, her fingers curling around the blades with a firmer grip. “Looks like I’m done,” she announced, taking the towel off his shoulders.

He ran a hand through his hair as if gauging it. “It’s great,” he said. He made no move to look in a mirror. “Thank you.”

Jyn put the scissors away, trying to conceal the slight heat rising in her chest at the sight of his gesture. (Now would have been a time as good as any to get a kriffin’ grip.) “I agree. So you can look tired and handsome at the same time.”

Another breath-laugh; embarrassed or in protest. “…Still tired, huh?” He glanced at his wrist chronometer. “Still time for Plan Aurek.”

“I think I might take that nap with you…” Jyn carefully considered her words, wondering if she was being too sloppy for her own sake. Although, she was confident that she could have a vibroblade pressed to his throat before he had a chance to get to his blaster. “If you’re not quite entertained by my _charms…_ do you mind if I change into something more _thermal-efficient?”_

“I never said I wasn’t,” he said. “And I don’t think your ‘charms’ are limited to an outfit, anyway.”

Jyn instinctively marked the information. Could be useful later. The sheer satisfaction pulling at her while she retrieved a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of cargo pants from her dresser had everything to do with strategic advantages. _I never said I wasn’t._ Yes… nothing of vanity… possibilities… yearning. That would’ve been inconsiderate.

⁂  
  


_…not entertained by my charms…_

Grakhing hell.

When he’d reprogrammed K-2SO, Cassian was warned, by the slicers who’d helped him and by Kaytoo himself: the droid was now likely say whatever came into his circuits. Unfiltered, unrestrained, lacking the ability to distort even for niceties. Cassian had thought: _fuck, yes._ Out of the whole universe, he could finally know _one_ being who was solely and unfailingly _honest._

He’d known Nova for one hour. Even with profiling and microsignal analysis skills, it was too little data. Nonetheless… she gave him the same feeling as did Kay. He was certain _Nova_ wasn’t her real name. Also sure if he asked her how she came to be working here, she wouldn’t tell him the truth. But in her approach, her treatment of him, signals of how, any given moment, she actually _felt…_ even some of the small details she’d shared… He thought she was being… genuine. Not something that was easy to find _anywhere._ Finding it in a brothel…

That was important, though. _Don’t forget where you are._ The insurmountable imbalance—the irreparable blanket compromise of consent. Even if he offered her an invitation to meet elsewhere, outside this place, would she be at liberty to say yes? —Was she at liberty to say _no?_

He should leave. Not risk coercing her even to lie beside him. Even if, despite everything—

(You just did it again. There _is_ no “despite everything”…)

But he wanted to stay near her. Whoever she was. However ludicrous this feeling, as untested and unearned. Whoever she thought _he_ was. Just a little longer. And the activity they proposed couldn’t hurt anyone.

 _—Couldn’t it? When neurotransmitter release in depressing context can become addictive and falling asleep with someone can seem like…_ Don’t kid yourself. Sex wasn't the only thing that was intimate. _Can you afford 'intimate'?_ Run projections down this path. Taken to a not distant enough extreme: If she tried to, how much might she be able to get out of him that the torturers of Jelucan hadn’t? Was he putting himself at more risk here than he did in combat?

But he didn’t suggest otherwise and he didn’t leave. _Why not just this once._ It had been so long since _he’d_ been earnest, uncoerced and uncompromised… _So how dare you risk doing that to someone else…?_

But… _reckless irresponsible selfish heinous ridiculous…_ he trusted her. That if she didn’t want to, she wouldn’t.

 _Sheesh,_ said the projected Kaytoo in his head. _Imagine if you **did** pursue sex with her._

That was at least a far easier line not to cross.

So. Some shared comfort. That might indeed, _truly,_ be mutual. Just for right now.

Cassian turned his back to give her a little privacy while she changed. Little as he liked looking at himself, he did stop at a mirror to check her work. Great; regulation-compliant. He wouldn’t have to change it. Plus, subtle enough that he didn’t anticipate Eoghan noticing. Continuing not to look at her, Cassian crossed back to the bed and sat again. “Do you prefer one side over the other?”

She reappeared in his line of sight a short second later, dressed in clothes she could’ve snatched from his own wardrobe. Dark-colored, easy to blend into a crowd, _unspecific._

“I have a feeling you like to be closest to the door,” Nova observed.

Not waiting for an answer, she sat down on the opposite side and reached for the abandoned mug. Probably cold by now. She looked at him over the edge of the cup, silently assessing… what? He wasn’t about to ask. Particularly if that _would_ push her into having to lie.

Okay. Cassian lay himself back on the pillow. His outside hand rested on his stomach. (Always unimpeded, to reach for his gun.) The other arm went up and under his head. He didn’t naturally sleep on his back. He didn’t want to turn to or away from her.

The shift of her body next to him indented the cheap mattress. She extended an arm to pull a thick red blanket over her body, nestling on her side as if she hadn’t been lying next to a complete stranger paying for her time. Cassian stayed aware of her stare, carefully mapping his general presence.

“We can share,” she then whispered between them, opening a spot under the wool cover like a puzzling, unexpected invitation.

Cassian hesitated. Finally, lightly, _so_ lightly it wouldn’t stop her moving away any instant, he moved his hand from resting on his stomach to folding over hers. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” he said softly. “I don’t just mean sexually. I’m… liking… just being around you.”

“Yes, I got that the first time you offer to leave.” Was she _scolding_ him? “It gets cold in here if you just… don’t do… anything.” A mocking laugh rasped in her throat.

He exhaled a laugh, back.

Nova draped some of the blanket over his body and closed the cautious distance left between them. A silent beat hovered on the scene, intriguing; then she added: “Don’t let it go to your head but I’m quite liking my evening so far.”

“I’m really glad.” He _meant that._ Could she tell? Could it matter?

His hand was still over hers. He wasn't removing it. Nova fell silent for a while, her breathing evened out. The background noises echoing inside the place became more present in turn, making it difficult to forget where he was. The colored bedroom of his… host stood like a beacon in the middle of a bleak night. Strangely—yeah—intimate. She rested her forehead against his shoulder, almost disappearing under the cover in an act of self-preservation.

Was it intentional or not, Cassian wasn’t positive, but he felt her pressing closer against his side.

Slowly—wondering how he could trust like this, in this place, but… believing her, that, _‘yes’,_ she _‘got it’…_ Cassian lowered the arm that had been thrown back over his head. He stretched it out under the pillow on her side; softening and making more of a concave of his shoulder where she lay.

Something tensed in her body, then relaxed again. Her fingers twitched against his chest, conflicted responses to questions he wasn’t sure to envision. The hesitation subdued without anything else to hint at it; Nova circled an arm around his waist and the leap of trust translated in the rest of her posture, too.

He didn’t dare hold her, back. He did bend his head to rest against hers.

“You’re warm,” she said. “The right kind.”

“So’re you.” He didn’t need to ask what _the wrong kind_ could be.

“You can sleep if you want. I won’t rob you.”

He wasn't worried about that. Service workers, including and maybe especially sex workers, were always the first to be blamed when anything went missing or wrong; so they rarely were the ones to actually _do_ so. Besides, he had nothing on him that he’d have to track someone down for.

Skies… she felt… she smelled… she _was_ … how could this stranger feel so _unstrange_ …?

He heard himself say: “Can you still be here when I wake up?”

She hummed against his chest, one of her legs snaking over him without shame. “I like being warm,” she said—as if it was the only acceptable answer.

He still held back. He wouldn’t wrap his arms around her as if they _weren’t_ in a brothel, as if they’d met somewhere else, and had known each other a long time.

(No matter how much it felt, against all reason and reality, like… they _had.)_

But he turned his body, just a little, to face her, and for one of his legs to shift and link around hers, back.

He woke up within the time limit. He was too programmed, not to. It was hard to know what to say to her. When he actually _wanted,_ which didn't make sense. Finally, he put a careful hand to her shoulder, kissed her temple, and left.

He stopped downstairs and scanned around. He reconfirmed the layout, the distribution of people, presences and absences, and found what he wanted. When no one was looking, he slipped into the madam’s empty office. It didn’t take much slicing skill to access the data terminal. —He shouldn’t do this. Not for her sake without her input. Not for an establishment that could yet take advantage. Not (re: the mission) for Gabrael Willix’s expense account. He did it anyway. Into Nova’s balance, he paid as many credits as she’d get with the maximum number of clients for two days.

He logged out and slipped away just as quickly. No one caught him. He confirmed Eoghan was already gone (hadn't taken the whole three hours; witness Cassian's unsurprise) and followed suit.

And hoped that those could now be two days in which she didn’t have to give herself to _anyone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We finally wrote something together?? Yes, it was fate! 
> 
> We hope you enjoyed their first encounter, this story is going to be a ride *wink* We'd love to hear what you think! ❤️


	2. Astrometric Binary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **astrometric binary** _(astronomy)_ a type of binary star system where the individual components have not been resolved with a telescope. Instead, the evidence for an unseen orbiting companion is revealed by its periodic gravitational perturbation of the visible component.

**02: Astrometric Binary**

When Jyn stepped outside of her room the next morning, the Parallel hadn’t woke up just yet. Taking advantage of the empty ’fresher and blessing silence, she wasted no time in getting ready. Her hair carefully secured into a bun, Jyn threw a long blue scarf around her neck and double-checked her pockets before heading down.

It was no surprise to her when she found she wasn’t the first one on the deck. Sitting at one of the clothed tables in the communal area, Asegga casually stirred a spoon in the black mixture she had the nerve to call caf. The odor was enough to incommode Jyn’s empty stomach.

Upon her arrival, the tenant diverted her attention from the account logs, greeting Jyn with a friendly-enough smile. _We made a great night, then._ Jyn stopped next to her boss, nodding a polite salute. The pink-skinned Twi’lek leaned on her chair, a spark of… curiosity (nosiness, more likely) in her aging eyes.

“Did you enjoy last night?” Asegga asked.

Jyn frowned, uncertain. Asegga rarely bothered to investigate, unless something of importance required her attention. She kept her business afloat but didn’t force unnecessary burdens down on her workers, managing from a place of experience. (One of many reasons Jyn had picked this place to operate.) The career transition hadn’t been entirely intentional, but the rapidly changing scenery on Ord Mantell had called for adjustments, safe moves.

Even in the gambling districts surrounding Morro Spaceport, the Twi’lek knew better than to parade under Imperial noses. She also knew better than to ask certain questions to prostitutes. Yet, she _had_ asked Jyn.

“Why?”

“You must have done something good for him to be so grateful.”

“What do you mean?” Jyn asked, noticeable confusion on her face.

“He left you an extra tab,” Asegga explained, pointing at the datapad. “Paid you for two days, full slots.”

Jyn mentally recoiled. She made a quick calculation; that represented… a shitload of credits. Depending on the line of work (and anything outside of illicit work paid miserably on Ord Mantell), more than a monthly salary. A whole new set of questions emerged in Jyn’s brain. How could he afford the expense? Was he working a more important position than she had profiled? Why would he do that? Was it a pre-emptive move on his part?

…Was she _okay_ with it?

She prioritized the one she could ask. “Did he say when?”

“He didn’t book you,” Asegga said. “He _tipped_ you. That’s why I asked earlier… whatever you’ve done to him, you better teach that to everyone here. I didn’t think you would be one to put so much heart into the job.”

Jyn snorted. “Yeah, well, trying my best not to be a leech on your back.”

“You don’t have to be on stand-by today, considering… your generous friend.”

She powdered on the idea. She didn’t relish the physical invasion of her body—but had come to terms with that sort of pain long ago (long before she even set foot on Ord Mantell). The distance she had forced between her and her skin made it less acute, alien, numb to her own internal conflicts. Just another weapon to be instrumentalized. The terrible, terrible things she had done… to herself, to others… all in the name of a greater purpose. Whether to throw a grenade in a crowd of indistinct targets or to spread her legs to gather intel, Jyn would do, and she did—never stopping to ask if she could bear the additional damages to her faded heart. _Too late, too damaged._

Nothing had changed.

But that spark of… warmth, still lodged between her ribs, the reminiscence of his hand holding her own… the sheepish dream of his lips on her… why did he suddenly make her _think_ about it? About what it would be like to lay down with someone she had chosen for once. Could she even be the one choosing if he paid for her time? _Sounds like a fatal flaw to your plan. He didn’t want to be here either way, he was just killing time for whatever reason he had to stumble in here. Probably his stupid friend and his compensating ego_. _He didn’t_ want _you._

She should have been glad— she wasn’t _not_ glad. Although, Jyn had indulged herself and it was her first mistake in a long time. Sure, she could twist it and justify the necessity of _closeness_ and _connexion_ in the name of potential gains later down the road, but lying to herself wasn’t as easy and efficient as lying to everyone else.

There was no place for that sort of weakness in her life; her mission was too important. _The mission always comes first,_ she heard Imgiri’s voice like a mantra, _no matter the cost. Remember it when you think you have nothing left in you. Remember all of those who can’t defend themselves. Remember all of those you have lost. If you’re still breathing, you can still fight. You owe it to them._

_—Liana, I’m scared._

_—Don’t be. It’s gonna be okay… hold my hand._

“I’m good,” Jyn said, a bit too sharply. “I’ve got this Imp lieutenant coming tonight, I’m still working him.”

“I see,” Asegga commented. Her lekku curled over her collarbones, either an agreement or a disapproval. Repulsion, maybe.

“I’m quite sure this one won’t leave me a tip,” Jyn snarled to dismiss… everything else. And with that, she turned heels and stepped outside.

The low clouds hovering over the capital city of Worlport shone a greyish blue color, cold and diffuse. No matter the time of day, sunlight never seemed to pierce through the covered atmosphere of the planet. It made it harder for anything to dry up, the chaotic layout of ornate facades and round-domed buildings often washed under a little drizzle.

Jyn followed the narrow street, heading south towards the Breakwater district, near the coastline. She readjusted the scarf around her neck, covering her hair in what appeared to be a genuine tentative to escape the humidity of that morning.

Around her, the street shops and gamblings houses were still closed. Jyn walked the hazardous pattern of alleys and stairs, constructions growing less intricate and more practical as she entered another part of the city.

It took her ten minutes of a fast-pace walk to reach her destination. The calm waters beyond the quays smelled of salt and kelp. Moving between warehouses, Jyn pushed towards the oldest part of the maritime area. She circled a few times on her tracks, just in case, and finally stopped near a broken lighthouse. The structure had been stripped to the bones by the elements, exposing the old durasteel skeleton.

With another look over her shoulder, Jyn hooked a foot on the nearest pole and searched for an anchor point. Her glove-covered hands grabbed a bare piece of durasteel sticking out of a wall and she pulled herself up, silently climbing up.

A light wind hooked in the fabric of her scarf as soon as she lost the cover of the tall warehouse buildings, brushing it away from her head.

After a short ascension, Jyn extended her right leg, using her body weight to swing across the tower. She reached for a solid piece of concrete, a slight sweat running down her spine from the effort, and pushed herself over the crumbling edge of the higher level. Easy game.

With a quick glance of scrutiny, Jyn made sure that her cache hadn’t been visited. Everything laid where she had left it; a black bag containing a code replicator, a few blank masters and a blaster, alongside her pair of truncheons and an emergency rope. Another case, hooked to a makeshift para-thunder, hosted a transponder and a secured comlink. Jyn crunched beside it, taking a few moments to let her gaze wander over the dark blue sea.

The fishing boats looked ridiculously small from her position, like toys in a bathtub.

She abandoned her contemplation and sat down, her back against what was left of the east wall. Going through her material, Jyn placed a piece into her ear and entered the security keys into the transponder. A small red dot started to flash on the rectangular screen.

She listened to the transmission in silence, isolating the information one by one.

> _… has made contact with rebels… identity unknown… White Snake… possible agent on site… red priority… Citadel has approved the use of lethal force… MUST be intercepted… vacuum operator… Fulcrum… no data entry…_

Jyn played it again, then wiped the memory disk.

She set the transponder on another frequency and opened comm. “Firefly, high-altitude, still flying. A few cumulus to observe, no rain, will go back to Citadel as soon as possible.”

After sending the signal out, Jyn disconnected the material and removed the earpiece. She felt wary of her lack of progress so far. Time was ticking out and people counted on her. Imgiri had entrusted her with this mission; failing wasn’t an option.

Jyn spent a few more minutes atop the lighthouse, alone and vulnerable. As soon as her feet touched the ground again, she would have to carry on with the weight of responsibilities burdening her shoulders. For now, she breathed into that fleeting respite, hands pressed to her forehead.

Some gulls squawked in the distance. The cold wind swirling around her managed to steal a shiver from her skin. Jyn instinctively yearned for the warmth of that body that had been sleeping next to her (…how nice it would have been if he held her just a moment).

A low grunt escaped her lips.

Jyn pushed herself up and glanced at the base of the tower, making sure no one was around to see her coming down. The process was a bit more delicate but she managed to get back on her feet with a sturdy sound of boots.

Jyn rubbed the inside of her gloves on her pants to get rid of the dust and slowly walked back, using a different path than the one she had followed earlier. She crouched under a broken fence and slipped off the Breakwater district, unnoticed. Soon enough, she had reached back the limits of the city center. She intended to go back to the Parallel and ask some questions about Gabrael’s friend to the worker he had booked the night prior—his usual one. Maybe she could learn useful things. ( _And make up your doshing mind._ )

Jyn’s attention might have faltered. She usually was better at avoiding unnecessary risky situations. Too late now. She couldn’t divert from the near-empty street without looking suspicious; that would have been an embarrassing mistake. 

Without breaking her pace, Jyn kept on walking straight into a squad of Stormtroopers, keeping a stream of profanities from her lips. She cocked her head down, trying to appear inconspicuous while she moved past them. Her body language aimed to say: _I’m not interested in whatever is going on, I don’t care, not my business._

Jyn squeezed herself on the sidewalk, acutely aware of their dooming proximity. She would have felt better with a blaster. All she had on her was a vibroblade, tucked in the small of her back; a shorter one in the inside of her ankle. Not much of an arsenal. (If she had needed one, it probably would have meant that her mission had failed… in which case, what happened to her would have been irrelevant.)

She thought she had made herself unnoticeable, almost breathed out her relief, then: “Hey, you.”

_Fucking kriffin’ shit._

Jyn stopped, controlling her reactions with great care. She turned around to see a ’trooper moving in her direction. His rifle wasn’t high enough to be a menace.

“Is there a problem, sir?”

“Let’s see some ID,” he asked through the speaking modulator. “Where do you come from so early?”

“I was just taking a walk on the beach, sir. Some nice fresh air,” Jyn smiled—a mix of subtle charm and apparent nervosity. “Here you go.”

The ’trooper dropped his attention on the (forged) identification card. Behind him, Jyn had the displeasure to see two more members of his squad slowly closing in, taking interest in her as well.

“Nova Sande…” the white armored silhouette said, trailing the name like an insult. “You look familiar, why is that?”

“Maybe some encounters in the gambling districts… I work near Herglic's Folly.”

Jyn had little trouble noticing the shift of attitude at the words, too clever to misread the signals. She eyed the other ’troopers with careful concern, watching them circling around her like a pack of hungry wolves. Her muscles tensed, anticipating a very unpleasant turn of events. Worst-case scenario, she would be arrested and processed for a few hours—days, maybe. She was confident enough that her fake ident would hold up; she would _most likely_ be back on the street sooner or later, but time was the essence and she couldn’t afford the setback. Best-case scenario… she would have to offer a few compensations to walk away.

“You’re a prostitute,” the ’trooper ostensibly said.

Jyn couldn’t possibly identify the modified voice, but she wouldn’t have been surprised if the man had left a few credits at the Parallel.

“Yes, I am,” she answered without intonation, keeping up the fake smile. “This isn’t illegal, is it? Would you mind giving my ID back?”

The ’trooper’s face was unreadable under his helmet.

Jyn braced herself.

⁂

> _flyboy union lothal circuit rogue union minor / fulcrum to father / vacuum sealed / comm-t’n acquired / confirmed - white snake on oscillator minor / ion dive - tooka burnout airlock / rendezvous - tooka burnout dive / going dark_

There was a lot of saturation for any transmission to cut through. That was part of the point. The response came quickly enough:

> _father to fulcrum / confirmed / await next power nova_

…Pfassk feking hell.

(There’s nothing wrong. Shush.)

Cassian switched off the main comm. He used a salvaged obsolete transmitter to send a quicker dispatch in Mon Cal blink code:

> _\- safe - boring - eating adequately -_

A slightly longer lag before Cassian received the response:

> _\- fine - now get some sleep -_

Even in different starsystems, K-2SO could make Cassian grin.

Kay’s frustration at being left behind was reasonable. Cassian being bad at taking care of himself was expressly why Kay had been made his partner. The cover opportunity with the Mantellian government involved Cassian being Imperial-adjacent, not full establishment, so the company of an Imp-trademark security droid didn’t work. Nor was it feasible for Kay to be hidden and radio silent nearby (even if he could stay those things). The dominance and boldness of criminal trade, specializing in all the battle tech abandoned on Ord Mantell, meant Kay wouldn’t be safe. At least Cassian had been able to justify these direct communiques with a sub effect: the outdated, ‘alien’-coded transmission could further scramble the actual Intelligence exchange; if the brief unilayer emissions from Mannett Point were teased out from Fort Garnik’s frequency flooding at all. _The mission always comes first._

Cassian’s smile fell as he did one more scan. Why? There was no reason. Erase, purge, and power down. Don’t dwell. The responses were just as expected. Nothing to trouble him.

Nothing except the stupid krozit meaningless paghing coincidence.

Krazsched phonetic alphabet couldn’t use _‘Naboo’_ or _‘Neurotoxin’_ or _‘Nerfherder’._

It had to be _‘Nova’_.

He needed air.

Cassian shut down any remaining power source that could cause an echo and went out onto the battlements.

Anywhere on Mannett Point offered a pretty good view. On all sides, the calm indigo ocean and violet mountains traced a softly clouded sky. It _was_ clouds, here; less Worlport’s and O.M. City’s postwar pollution. The ramparts Cassian stood on had been a fortress, a hospital, an ordnance and munitions depot, a trade hub freight center; and before all that, most famously, a pirate treasure vault. It was deserted these days, stripped to its bones thrice over.

Across the disintegrated land bridge could be seen the snubbed peak of Mount Avilatan: the volcano that hosted a stronghold. Fort Garnik living in Mt. Av’s shadow, ready at any time to be consumed in its emissions, was like the big sister of Fort Garnik’s relationship to Mannett Point. More famous Garnik was an active spaceport with markets, cantinas, and repurposed remnants of a still-operational Republic command center. It had such a high profile, so much space-visible activity, and made so much noise, one little should-be-defunct transmission station on Mannett Point—in the other’s geographic, historic, and comm-static shadow—was quite masked.

Cassian had been to Garnik… wading the waterway on much shorter legs. They’d come across the Avilatan Badlands, each step made in dread of tripping an undetonated mine. They got to Fort Garnik in one piece. This was before the Mantellian Separatists splintered off from the Confederacy of Independent Systems for their own intraplanetary civil war. The fort had been surrounded on all sides by refugee camps.

Cassian, eleven years old, had been brought along by his savior and mentor, Xol Khryw, on behalf of the CIS, to bring relief and offer recruitment. Khryw spent more of her time in growled trade negotiations with the munitions depot’s corrupted government wardens. Cassian couldn’t grasp, then, the twistedness of the situation; that such dealings, all over Burke’s Trailing, meant the Rim branches of the CIS and the Republic—the Sith and Separatists—were both arming _each other._

(Given how it all had turned out… or revealed itself to have always been… how hideously appropriate.)

Then, now, always, caught in the middle: civilians. Regimes had changed, as they had before and would again. On Ord Mantell, as all over the Galaxy, people still needed to find work and feed their kids. People trying to live a life, do more than just survive. _—And also_ just survive. As they should. _Why we fight._

People like…?

_Stop._

There was no reason for her to be remaining in—invading—his brain like this. He’d met so many people and put them out of mind. So, _stop it._

Cassian finished up and replaced his camouflage, leaving the place as derelict-looking as before. His path back didn’t require crossing the Badlands or wading the channel. The other end of Mannett Point was a tourist and picnic destination. He took its small ferry back to the mainland and hopped the railspeeder to Worlport. Each leg of the trip was made less traceable by the others. The final walk from the transport station to where Gabrael Willix reported at the Imperial deepdock was the least beautiful, and felt the least like following Khryw’s ghost. It was also usually the most informative, for it always presented samples of how _[insert current] regime_ and _[ever same] civilians_ interacted.

Exhibit Aurek, at the far end of the mercantile district, leading to the adjacent undercity circles: “Hey, you.”

 _/vocal filtering = stormtrooper/_ had Cassian instantly, smoothly turning the nearest corner. Confirm: no one was looking at him. He put his back to the wall—it was a nocturnal food shop still smelling of last night’s deep-fried fish—and peered around.

The ’troopers, not near him, faced the opposite end of an otherwise-deserted area—

“Nova Sande.”

—but the possibility of walking away vanished.

“This isn’t illegal, is it? Would you mind giving my ID back?”

Cassian focused on the lead ’trooper. Sure enough: an identichip, that precious piece of information, in one gloved hand—and no sign of intention to restituate it to its rightful owner. Instead, (fulfilling Cassian’s most jaded expectations), the man threw it on the ground.

A cheap powerplay, probably the only one a low-ranked Imperial patrolling a city ready to implode (from far more severe threats) could secure. He probably enjoyed the idea of intimidating her, or simply wanted her _beneath_ him. In fear, in lack of choice, in humiliation. Either because of her profession or because she looked young and attractive. Because she looked _unbroken_ , as Cassian had thought.

The squad aimed to teach her a lesson, to make her _kneel_. Cassian’s advice would have been to indulge, to fall in rank. She seemed smart enough to know that. But for a second, seeing the sudden look on her face, the fiery rage in her eyes— _Holy Force,_ her eyes. He’d noticed them in her room—of _course_ he had: star-flecked green with galaxies inside them; sharp, intelligent, probing, suspicious, assessing… their veiled strength, anger or pain—too awfully unsurprising in such a setting, but still threw a grappling claw tethering straight into his innards… And _now,_ even more, he saw… the… _need._ For rightness in action, for just defense, for deprived control of her own pfassking _life…_? He shouldn’t presume, but it… hurt. The way reflection hurt. And was of such gravity, the universe itself must bend in on it. … _Tsan murra…_ it just happened again. As with the transmission: for a moment he… lost… the present. Was taken out of his actual situation. _He didn’t do that. He **couldn’t**. Stop it. _Right here, right now, she was up against this power-starved sadist, against whom one’s best move was to humor and get away; and Cassian feared she wouldn’t play. What could she have done, all alone against three stormtroopers? Beat them senseless to the ground with not even a blaster in hand?

She looked exactly like she intended to. Oh, pfassk.

Nova slowly bent over, never taking her eyes off the man, and picked the ID off the ground without a sound. Even as she did, the inexplicable defiance she held tight ( _so_ tight) inside her trembling body made of her the real winner. Everyone could see it. If she knew what was good for her, she would have smoldered that spark of rebellion.

She didn’t. She chose to accept the consequences, leading to an inevitable escalation of violence. Cassian had mapped it the second he caught that star-breaking _need._

The stormtrooper near her shoved his boot on her shoulder, sending her back to the ground. She fell on her side and caught herself with a menacing, feral grunt, already trying to get up.

“What was that?” a distorted voice snarled through the stark-white helmet. The barrel of a blaster-rifle suddenly pointed at her, pressed to her cheek. “Resistance?”

 _You called?_ “You men,” barked Cassian. He couldn’t chart how he’d gotten from around the corner to standing directly behind them and he didn’t care. As they turned, he had his hands at his belt, fanning his coat to display government transponder and holstered blaster. “What is this?”

A few of the buckets turned to each other. Their leader straightened. It put a little distance between the muzzle of his rifle and Nova’s skin, but not enough, nor changed its aim. _“This_ is none of your business,” the canned voice replied.

“Gundark,” spat ‘Willix’. “I’m an agent of the planetary government. Interference with its civilians is exactly my business.”

“A planetary government that answers to the Empire,” snapped the ’trooper.

“With its Codes of Conduct,” Willix snapped back. (Sometimes the play was to stay calm. Sometimes it was to tone-match.) “Of which you’re in violation. How about this: you scratch gravel, right now, and I won’t report you to Governor-General Moff Vellam. Under Article Shen-One-Xesh, I’m entitled to your operating numbers on demand. Shall we continue this conversation?”

Some more shuffling of the bucketheads, and a last unsurprising snarl from the leader: “Will it be in your interests to be on record showing such interest in a whore?”

“One of my constituents,” Willix said frostily. “Record away.”

“Come on, Sarge,” growled another of the ’troopers. “If we cause a blowup with the Mantellians—”

“ _Space it!”_ said the leader. But he knew he was done. One hostile heartbeat more, then he removed his blaster from Nova’s face, stuck it loudly in his holster, and turned on his heel. The rest instantly followed. ‘Willix’ watched without blinking until they were out of sight.

Then it was Cassian down on his knee at Nova’s side. “Are you okay?”

Her star-filled eyes didn’t turn.

“Fine.” Her voice was sharp, crisp, impersonal. She didn’t spare him a single look, already back on her feet with a fluid motion, brushing the sand off her clothes like she wanted to rip a hole in them. Her jaws clenched so hard that he could have heard her teeth crack. She kept staring in the distance, closed off and somber, entirely different from the woman who'd said: _you're warm, the right kind_.

Cassian wondered which version was the real one. Whatever _real_ could be.

A few more heartbeats and her attention finally snapped onto him. “Governmental agent?” Nova said, a reprobative note in her words. “Does it pay well?”

“More of a contractor,” he said. “But, well enough.”

“I bet it does,” she snarled, full of subtext.

Cassian belatedly stood to match her, stepping back as he did. He understood her anger, directed at him or not. He didn’t want to intrude on her space. “I guess I should have asked if you wanted help. I figured… less likely to go on my record than yours?”

(Or reflex had overtaken him. Though such snap assessments had been made part of his reflexes…)

She snorted without humor. “Do you really think I ended up on this shithole of a planet, sucking dicks for a living, by keeping my records _clean_?” Her eyes still ablaze, she angrily tugged at the scarf around her neck as if it had been choking her. “Spare yourself the trouble next time, I don’t need it. I’m not _worth_ it.”

“Everyone’s worth it.” For that instant, the level of fire in his eyes and voice matched hers.

He thought he saw hesitation, fleeting and panicked, betrayed by a tremor on her lips.

He tried to project to her, across empty space: _Just because you don’t need it doesn’t mean you can’t have it. Just because you can do it alone doesn’t mean you should have to. Please, let me, with you—_

“You’re wrong,” Nova said, shutting down every signal behind armored walls, “and if you’re so snarkin’ desperate to help, you should start by working for someone else than a corrupted government.”

He didn’t take that bait. _…what could she get out of him… especially when she wasn’t trying…_ He had to try one last: “Before I kest off and leave you alone, can I please walk with you, to wherever you’re going? It’ll help me stop wondering. I won’t say another word.”

“Wondering _what_? I can take care of myself so don’t bother. Would be tragic if a good citizen saw you with someone like me. Those things have to stay in the dark, isn’t that right?”

Kintan strider v. molator: stalemate. Disagreeing with her further wouldn’t be respecting that fire—that he shouldn’t assume he knew—that _bone deep_ he knew _perfectly_ —to control her own path. He took another step back and furthered the submission by putting his hands in his pockets. He met her eyes one moment more… getting her assessment of herself as more sincere than maybe, in defense, she’d meant it to be; and hoping she got just a bit of his disagreement with it from her reflection in his eyes.

The timing was so wrong… but he finally said it. “If you ever want. My last name is Willix. I’d love to be seen with you, in the light.” One more check of confirmation in her eyes. Then, however difficult, he nodded goodbye and walked away.

⁂

By the time Jyn finally reached the Parallel, a mizzly cold rain had started to fall on Worlport, turning the streets of the gambling districts into a bright-copper mud. It stuck to her boots as she dashed towards the entrance, her hair plastered on her face, scarf dangled over her shoulders carelessly. Jyn didn’t stop to see who had gotten down. She walked straight to the stairs and climbed two steps at a time.

“Hey!” someone called after her. “Take off your shoes, stupid _fedejik_!”

Csillag, then.

Jyn ignored the displeased woman; she would spend the whole day bricking every corner of that place if it could get her brain to just _shut up_.

She slammed her door with a raging swing and paused, momentarily disoriented by the fevered chaos of her thoughts. Standing shell-shocked in the middle of the room, Jyn could barely catch her breath, the familiar exertion of a fight still throbbing in her core. Although, she hadn’t fought. Not the kind that left sore, swollen bruises and dried blood under her nails—but she wished she had. _Burning kriffin’ skies!_ —she wished she _had_ … 

…taken down that asshole, put a fuming hole in his breast-plate, seen him fall to the ground like a lifeless dummy… the ones she had been fighting on Wrea, the echoes of a distant nightmare… all the ones that came after… She should have taken all of them down, the entire squad if she had to. The entire army. The whole fucking Empire with it!

Jyn tore the blue scarf from around her neck and threw it on the bed, her hands still trembling, relentless. She craved the killing and the blood, all to somehow pour that deadly hatred outside of her, displace it, extinguish it in the ashes of vengeance. Just so it could stop hurting _her_ instead. It could stop pulsing inside her chest, and suffocating her lungs, and pushing the wrong words on her tongue and the rage in her fists and— _and_!

Why was he here, from _all_ fucking people?

Was this a coincidence or a ploy? She should have marked it as an asset—almost too convenient to be trusted. Gabrael Willix, governmental agent, incidental backdoor. She already had the connexion, the perfect angle to invade, the ability to do so. He practically served it to her on a silver plate and he had no idea just how much she could use his words against him. He just wanted to _help_.

_Shas’mink shunfa!_

Jyn had screwed up, big time. She pressed her palms flat to her forehead: a vague attempt to stop her buzzing brain from escaping her skull. What a kriffin’ incompetent idiot she was. The man had willingly given his name (if it could be trusted to be his real one— debatable) and offered to walk her, and she had sent him away on an insult. Way to go, Erso! Monumental progress. All because she couldn’t keep her unfocused, bitter anger at bay for five astral minutes.

She had to do better. _The mission always comes first._

Yes, yes— always. Jyn had to get that back under control; she had to find a way to come around with Gabrael and dig deeper. She wouldn’t find a better opportunity, not by a million shot. And no matter how she felt… about his words… no matter the earnest strength in his eyes when he said: _Everyone’s worth it—_

Jyn laid on the bed, a huff of frustration parting her lips, and unstrapped the leather gloves from her wrists. She crawled on her stomach then, reaching for the mattress’ upper corner. Behind a loose seam on its side, her fingers brushed the shape of a hard box the size of her palm. She snatched it from the (terrible yet terribly overlooked) cache and rolled on her back again. Inside were a few variants of ‘Nova Sande’ (just in case), alongside the only belonging Jyn couldn’t part with.

For a few minutes, she rotated the kyber crystal between her fingers—old companion to her life, reminiscence of everything precious she had locked away inside her heart. The memories had faded: the voice of a mother, the smile of a father. Jyn had spent so many years practicing the art of being someone else that she wasn’t sure to recall how it felt to be a daughter to them. Each name she claimed had shred the soul of Jyn Erso to a thinner piece, shard broken glass among a galaxy of steel.

But holding Lyra’s necklace felt like holding that last piece of herself.

Gabrael hadn’t understood her words. How could he? He didn’t know her; he knew nothing about her past, about those two years she spent on Verisin, about the slavers. He didn’t know about the Shift, about the memory of a girl that kept Jyn awake at night— unable to cry, unable to breathe. She had vowed to deliver justice for her, it had turned into something darker. It didn’t matter anymore, did it?

What _did_ matter was the urgency to stop the Alliance from blowing the lid off of the entire Burke’s Trailing. Those fucking arrogant morons had no idea. Too coward to take real decisions, to act where it mattered most, to declare _war_ against the oppression and the misery and the terror gangrening the lives of millions; they sat and watched from afar, had the nerve to judge (the methods and the fighters alike). They called them terrorists, extremists, _dangerous_ people—and not to be associated with. (re: _You can’t fight violence with violence, it goes nowhere. The cycle continues and a new oppressor arises_.)

But while they discussed and waited and labeled, people died. People suffered.

Jyn didn’t care then, if the mobsters of the Tenloss Syndicate were shredded to dust by Separatist explosives while they raid a weapons factory for armament. She didn’t care if her rapists didn’t get a fair trial and a life-long sentence behind bars. She didn’t care for blood, if blood was the price to freedom and her ticket off of Verisin.

Imgiri knew someone had to pay that price, and she accepted it; so did Jyn and every member of the Third State Federation, the Shift.

Everyone except for the mighty Rebel Alliance. On Ord Mantell, all the governments, all the regimes, aimed to bring down the expending crime syndicates, without ever offering any adequate ways to function in their place. And now they were about to destroy the precarious network that kept most of them, normal noncombatant _collaterals_ , alive.

Unless Jyn could catch that unpinned grenade before it went off—and for that, she needed access. _The mission always comes first, no matter the cost._

**But then—**

_I’d love to be seen with you, in the light._

Jyn clutched the necklace over her tightening heart, a warm pulse between her fingers. 

Why would she care about his reaction to a fictitious injustice made to her… why would she care about his desire to stay close to her, when he had all reasons not to?

The soft craving in her chest at the sound of his words bothered her, made her weary of herself. She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t think of his touch, attentive and gentle. The memory of his body lying next to her… and the smell of his skin, so close and personal.

 _He's a stranger_ , her protective instincts tried to interject, _dangerous— stay clear of him. He's just a tool for the job_.

A stranger that felt… (how to define the longing of a place you'd never been?) unstrange. Enough for her to fall asleep against him, when she had never even indulged in the arms of a lover—although Jyn didn't know what a lover felt like, but in her mind, they had come close enough to pretend like they _almost_ were.

It made it so much harder, now, to persuade herself she wouldn’t have liked to be near him again… to know the feeling of his arms around her… the timid urge to brush her fingers into his hair just to see him shiver as if she had done something right, wondering if he was one to hold her neck too tightly while he kissed (he would not, her brain instantly filled for her— _blast_ , she did _not ask_!)…

(she couldn't unthink it now)

…only would because she had to.

 _Liar_.

⁂

She couldn’t know, right now, a mere district away, ‘Gabrael Willix’ slipped through the deepdock. He let himself into his provided accommodations and (deliberately misaligned with the time away he’d just spent) clocked off for a few hours. He chucked off his boots, coat, and blaster (just like…); forced his head onto a pillow, lips parting to drag in deeper breaths, for his diurnal sleep shift.

And despite what had just played out, why here and now when he’d gotten so good at never allowing it elsewhere and elsewhen, _why?!…_ for just a moment, sealed off and alone, he let himself stop judging it. He let himself go there.

Cassian let himself imagine the feel of Nova in his arms, until the comfort of the fantasy lulled him down to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _…the way reflection hurt_ : based on Diego Luna saying of Jyn and Cassian: “The mirror hurts.”


	3. Occultation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **occultation** _(astronomy)_ a celestial event that occurs when a distant astronomical body or object is hidden by another, nearer body or object that passes between it and the observer, thereby blocking the first object from view.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ CW: assault, CW: violence, CW: noncon, CW: attempted rape, (none of these between Jyn/Cas)

**03: Occultation**

Along the Path of Coins, not far from Worlport’s center, _The Lady Fate_ casino sat like a Hutt at a Jawa roast. Some called it _“The brightest jewel of the Bright Jewel System”_ —though those might have been its own publicists. It was such an overt meeting place for cartels, it had gained its own kind of immunity, and threw into relief the corruption and impotence of the actual government. Still, while nobody there obeyed _The_ Law, they all obeyed the _same_ laws. Each criminal organization had its sovereign territory. (Geographic, economic, mercantile, conduct.)

What a state of affairs, when the criminals were the bureaucracy. And had become so long, long ago. Surrendering the house keys to Imperial occupation had been motivated by keeping the Empire relatively _off_ Ord Mantell’s back. The highest echelons of society, ranks of government, and taxes/tithes were redirected to the Empire, but everything below them stayed largely the same. Defining forces, even some of the same political players, had been this way under the Republic, through Civil War, had (and might again) seek independence. The attempts of the Alliance to _liberate_ would do away with the oppressors, sure, but offered nothing to fill the preexisting and ensuing vacuum. Corruption and deregulation were a self-feeding loop. The Alliance and the Empire inflicted violence and restrictions. In opposing one another, they squeezed the civilians in the middle to desperation and death.

This was where the likes of Cassian walked. Where the ‘good guys’ (depending on your beliefs: Empire _or_ Alliance) did bad things, and the ‘bad guys’ sometimes did good things. Governments cared about Ord Mantell as a strategic point. The criminals were the ones who actually had families there. They didn’t care about the wellbeing of their offworld clientele, whom they were happy to poison with drugs and exploit for profits; but a lot of what they did was to create jobs for their own people and fill in for the lack of legal infrastructure. The drug barons were the ones building schools and hospitals. The bounty hunters and smugglers provided uninterrupted, reliable livelihood, and often necessary goods. The gangs and mafias were the ones ‘policing’ their neighborhoods (vacillating between defending and extorting noncombatants). This was how to survive, even thrive. Ideologies were for someone else.

Agents like Cassian had to navigate this minefield and keep their own integrity. …Whatever “integrity” was… when judgment didn’t feed, clothe, educate or defend the innocents; and when _innocence_ itself might only be maintained through shirking involvement and/or being spared by sheer dumb luck? There were so many criminals who became so out of need, civic loyalty, and self-defense. There were others in uniforms and suits.

And now, a new problem. One criminal syndicate had risen above the rest. Initially, it had unified the others to maximize profit and solidify Ord Mantell’s galactic standing, independent from Empire and Alliance alike. But its monopoly had morphed into something else. It was driving everyone else out, gouging profits and demanding tribute. What had started as the way to serve and protect the Mantellians under uncaring regimes had itself become just one more such regime. That was the Black Sun Syndicate. And why he was really here. As Gabrael Willix on behalf of the Mantellian Government, _and_ as Cassian Andor on behalf of the Alliance. He had yet to see whether Willix’s and Andor’s purposes would prove the same.

Also: why it was someone like _Cassian_ who had been sent. Someone trained, capable, and authorized to make his own snap calls without instruction; judge situations as he found them; was unshocked and resigned while wading through the morally tangled muck. To some extent, he was here just to have _someone_ on the ground. In case this ’nockdump of an unexploded Avilatan mine detonated.

Cassian walked into the Lady Fate’s main area, with his hidden blaster, without his governmental transponder. He was operating outside both identities, here, in their service. He slipped up to the bar and inclined his head. “Mama Ji.”

The Codru-Ji bartender looked over at him and curled her lips in a smile. “Rabbit,” she answered. Cassian had strategically endeared himself to her on his second day on Ord Mantell, by, among other things, sharing the undignified childhood nickname. (All child soldiers of CIS Sullust Team ‘Fissure’ were ‘ash rabbits’.) “What can I get you?”

“Nothing, yet,” said Cassian. “I’m about to sit down with those folk, there.” He tilted his head a different direction, and Mama Ji followed with her eyes to a round table circled by some Falleen, Humans, and one Nautolan. “Make sure they don’t spike anything they give to me, will you?”

“I can do that for you,” said Mama Ji, “but watch out for other delivery methods.”

Cassian heaved a sigh. “Yeah. I know. Thank you.” He slid a credit chit across the bar, which, with her fourth hand, she smoothly took and pocketed away.

“Watch your back,” said Mama Ji.

 _We have to watch our own backs._ “I’ll do my best.” Cassian faintly smiled and turned to face the collective.

The dull formality of the group made it almost feel like a board meeting. You’d never know most of the beings around the table would, at a moment’s notice, kill one another.

 _“Hello,”_ said Cassian in Basic and Mantellian as he took the empty seat. “Thank you for meeting with me.”

One of the Falleen scoffed. “You didn’t call this. You were summoned.”

Cassian peaceably shrugged. “So, what can I do for you?”

“Confirm your identity, to start,” said one of the others.

“In the name of compromise,” said Cassian, duly huffy, “I agreed to be ‘the Houjix’. Shall I guess which of you is which?” At their silence, he did so, matching insignia to dejarik piece designation.

He could tell by their various body languages, he’d gotten it right. ‘The Monnok’ huffed in amusement, making it airtight. “Well, then. You understand the purpose of this meeting.”

“I know _my_ purpose,” said Cassian. “I’m hoping for clarity on yours.”

“Your purpose being?” said ‘the Molator’.

They were diving right in. Good. Cassian hated gatekeeping drinking rituals. (Aurek) They lowered functioning, (besh) they upped danger, (cresh) they were often a trap, and (dorn) he _really_ hated them.

Cassian slipped a tracking fob from his sleeve into his hand. (No good reaching under jackets or into pockets with this lot.) He slid it to the center of the table. It activated and gave a sparse holo readout. “I’m looking for this guy. They said trouble with your organizations prevented us meeting face to face. I’ve come to negotiate safe passage.”

“Negotiate with what?” said ‘the Kintan Strider’.

“I’m positioned to issue eight—” (the number of other beings around the table, not including Cassian and the others’ stepped-back entourages) “—Imperial immunity licenses, good through the end of this cycle. It could save each of you at least four thousand credits in fees, if you initiate immediately.” _Accept right away._

“And the catch?” said ‘the Ng’ok’.

“You devote two thirds freight capacity for Imperial cargo,” said Cassian. “It’s the only way I could get the licenses. They need to move a surplus past some blockage and are willing to subcontract, if it’s done quietly.”

“Two thirds,” said Monnok. “So when you say ‘save credits’, you mean ‘offset our loss’.”

Cassian spread his hands. “For two months’ freedom of operation. You’ll be able to make inroads in new ports that will continue to serve you after the expiration.”

Mutters passed around the table.

“What’s the problem?” said Cassian. “Dealing directly with the Empire? I didn’t take you for idealogues.”

“We may not be,” said ‘the Karkath’. “Some of our clients are.”

“They’ll get twitchy if we start seeming too pally,” said ‘the K’lor’slug’.

“You’ll be redirecting Imperial resources from the actual Empire to your and your clients’ enterprises,” said Cassian. “It’s like stealing, only without getting chased after. Surely they can look at things from that angle.”

(As could—certain elements in—the Alliance.)

‘The Ghhhk’ set both hands on the table and leaned toward Cassian. “You want ‘clarity’,” they said. “So do we. Why are you willing to subvert the Empire?”

“Like I said,” said Cassian. “They’re having trouble with blockades. I’m a contractor. They hire people like me for creative solutions, when their own rigidity won’t get them what they need.”

“I don’t think you’re even that,” said Ng’ok, putting one hand abruptly on the table with a dull _thud._ “We don’t believe you’re working with the Empire at all.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “I patently am. I don’t see how that’s even debatable.”

“They don’t have your loyalty,” said Ng’ok. “You’re a collaborator elsewhere.”

Hello, bait. Cassian sat back and shrugged. “Would it matter if I was? Everyone gets something they want. Including me. The thing I want doesn’t hurt any of you.”

“It might,” said Ng’ok. He snatched up the fob and threw it back across the table. “You want us to think you’re some menial bureaucrat trying to make extra on the side with a little amateur bounty hunting.”

Blast. That was exactly what he’d wanted them to think. Cassian picked up the fob. “And I’m not?”

“You’re working for someone else,” Ng’ok growled.

Here it comes.

“You’re working for the Pykes.”

…Well. Okay, then.

Cassian rolled his eyes. He started passing the fob like a sabacc chip between his fingers. “I’m really not. But if I were, what’s the problem?”

“What’s the _problem?”_ Ng’ok repeated. His sudden rage and _volume_ startled everyone around the table.

“He’s right,” ‘the Savrip’ spoke for the first time. “We don’t want to give more accessions to Black Sun.”

“We don’t want to _cross_ them, either,” snapped Ng’ok. “You don’t think they can’t make our lives even _worse?”_

“They wouldn’t if you kept your pfassking trap shut,” said Kintan Strider. Her anger level also seemed oddly heightened, but she seemed more aware of it than Ng’ok and reined it in. “This is a good deal.”

“Too good,” said Ng’ok. “There’s something behind it.”

Something was happening to the back of Cassian’s brain. It had been building for a while but had just reached a noteworthy level. A haze, but also, a… restlessness, an urgency, a pull in an unknown direction. He didn’t see how they could possibly have drugged him; he hadn’t drunk a thing nor touched any of them for injection or absorption. Was he inhaling something? —then everybody else was, too. Nothing to do right now except stay alert and run through chemical resistance techniques.

 _“Yeah,_ there is,” said Cassian, channeling his strange restlessness into pointed irritability. “I already told you what. I need access to this dweezer and I need all of you off his grakhing back so _I_ can saddle it.”

“Why?” said Karkath.

Cassian snorted. “I’m not going to _tell_ you.” He flipped the fob in the air; caught it, palmed it, and slipped it back up his sleeve. “If you need something to sweeten the pot… I’m gonna say ‘no’. You’ve admitted it’s a good deal. But what the hell, we all like a laugh. What do you suggest?”

If any of them had been convinced by Ng’ok away from the _bored Imperial underling playing at bounty hunter_ idea, Cassian seemed to have got them back with the _bored Imperial underling with a possible gambling problem_ alternative. Ng’ok and his three backups were still scowling, but Ghhhk, Molator, Kintan Strider, K’lor’slug, Savrip, Monnok, and Karkath had all, in microsignals of expression (across three species) and body language (helped that all were Humanoid) relaxed.

“I’ve got what I need,” said Molator. “I don’t care what the rest of you do. I’ll accept.”

The others did too. Even, at last, Ng’ok.

“Let’s make it official,” said Ghhhk.

“You need down payment?” said Cassian. “I don’t have—”

“I need a _drink,”_ said Ghhhk. “And so do you. I don’t trust any deal we haven’t drunk on.”

So much for avoiding ritual. Oh well. Cassian watched over his shoulder as Mama Ji poured the liquid and brought it over. Nobody managed to slip something in.

Though Cassian found his attention almost diverted by a glimpse of someone beyond Mama Ji. Someone who looked an awful lot like… Nova.

_Shhh. You’re distracted. It’s not her. Focus._

Most times, Cassian had tricks to look like he was drinking more than he really was. With this lot, that wouldn’t cut it. Suppressing aversive expression, Cassian toasted them and downed the glass.

They never relaxed enough to be friendly, but there were some actual jokes exchanged as Cassian passed out the scandocs. Having them on him had been a risk, they could have just clobbered him and taken them, but they also required his last authorization. Now that they’d agreed, he gave it. There wasn’t much guarantee he could get from them in return, but, in situations like this, with everyone’s livelihoods so inextricably precarious, there _was_ honor among thieves. He also managed to get the codenames to invoke if anyone tried to break faith, and that was better than expected.

They, naturally, staggered their exits. Watching Strider go, Cassian caught another glimpse of the Human he’d thought was Nova. He tried to find her again, with each ensuing departure, but couldn’t pick her out. _Not her,_ he reminded himself each time. Worlport wasn’t the largest city but that would be too big a coincidence. _Shall I tell you the odds?_ asked the mental Kaytoo.

Cassian was definitely feeling the alcohol more than he liked by the time all save one group had departed. Of course it was Ng’ok’s. Not the one he’d wanted to be left alone with.

“So,” said Cassian, “good enough?”

“Guess it’ll have to be,” answered Ng’ok, strangely hard to read. “Be stupid of me to turn down while everyone else gets the edge.”

“I’m glad you think so. I don’t want to cross you when I go after this guy.”

“Why wait?”

—

Cassian should have defended himself. It should have been easy. He’d duck back, head- and shoulder-slam the goon behind him, throw up a blocking arm and then seize Ng’ok’s wrist, kick the third Human away, use the superior height and weight of the one behind him to trip into the other, before pulling his blaster.

He didn’t. They got him. One of the other Humans seized him from behind. Another lunged and slapped a hand to the side of Cassian’s neck. Cassian managed to overturn his chair—but they’d timed this. Mama Ji must have stepped out. No one else was going to intercede.

Cassian felt his knees buckle. His hand went to the side of his neck. They’d put something there, some kind of patch, which Cassian started to tear off, but his hand was caught and dragged down. As Cassian’s head swam and vision inverted, he ran through the likely candidates: _imobilin? myoplexaril? paraleptin? somaprin? kik-dust?_ …but it was a futile exercise. The planet was spinning out from under him and he couldn’t center himself to fight as two of Ng’ok’s three entourage had him under the arms and dragged him backward.

Cassian wondered how the feke this had happened. His level of intoxication shouldn’t have left him _this_ easy to—

 _…around the table: Humans, one Nautolan, and Falleen._ Molator and Savrip.

_gartaljactnakrozitphwoarshassashunfaverred’nnockafuck_

Yes. Inhaled. Absorbed. _Feking…_

Falleen strongly exuded pheromones, usually only effective on other Falleen, and mostly during certain biological cycles. But they could also do it, to an extent, _on_ _purpose._ Common legend said the effect was always aphrodisiacal. In truth, the phenethylamines didn’t _have_ to be, especially on Non-Falleen. Ng’ok’s naked hostility, Strider’s elevated rage, Cassian’s own sense of being _pulled_ … Of _course_ Savrip and Molator been dispersing pheromones around the table to make everyone else more pliable and less inhibited.

Cassian’s training, resisting chemical compromise, meant either the pheromones or the alcohol wouldn’t have incapacitated him. Clearly they’d cross-reacted. And now whatever had been in that patch…

To think of it: the pheromones plus the alcohol might have something to do with Ng’ok & co.’s… disproportionate… aggression right now.

For a disoriented moment, Cassian thought he saw the Novalike woman one more time. Then Ng’ok’s entourage had dragged him through a back door.

“Why?” Cassian managed around the sudden heaviness of his own jaw and tongue. “What does this get you?”

“We got what we need,” Ng’ok answered, sounding less Human all the time. “Now we take what we _want._ Send a message to the feking Pykes that they can’t use us or screw us. We’ll take their credits _and_ kick their tails. Black Sun is supreme. Pin him.”

Someone grabbed the back of Cassian’s head and slammed his face into the bar. Bruise spots exploded in his eyes. One of his ribs may have cracked. Ringing with pain on top of everything worse, Cassian struggled to straighten himself, but both wrists and the back of his neck were all seized and pushed down. He heard Ng’ok moving behind him. Then Cassian’s feet were kicked apart from behind.

_…no. Come on. No._

Hands on him everywhere now, tearing off his coat, yanking out his blaster and pressing the muzzle to his face; ripping off his belt and starting to drag down his fatigues.

_no no no_

“You know why you’re the Houjix?” Ng’ok’s second’s laugh ran through Cassian’s bones. “You’re little and pathetic and get jumped.”

With as great a determination as he’d ever made: Cassian made himself go limp.

All except his teeth biting down so hard that his lip burst and bled. It took all he had not to scream for someone to save him from what was about to happen.

Some distant part of his mind, as it failed desperately to let him dissociate far away, wondered how he was going to tell this to Kay. And, however irrationally, begged Kay to forgive him.

⁂

Jyn forced a seductive laugh past her throat, wiser alternative than the uncommonly gorry menace she had on the tip of her tongue. She mindlessly tapped her fingers on the edge of the cushioned seat, as to suppress the itching need to reach for a vibroblade. Making a mess in a place like this one wasn’t recommended; she knew how to be considerate for her life at times. Incidentally, killing her cover would have been a stupid move (no matter how tempting).

The cover (picked too briskly to be entirely adequate as Jyn ran into a shortage of options; a too-aggressive, too-volatile Devaronian with short horns and an obnoxious face tattoo he had no doubt acquired during his time on Starlag XIX) moved his hand higher between her legs and squeezed the meat of her thigh.

Jyn kept on smiling and her fingers kept on tapping, listening to the background chatter filling the Lady Fate’s smoky atmosphere (the deep orange particles floating in the air meant spice; at the table next to her, a purple glow: ryll, a lesser form of the former, more recreative, less addictive). Nothing in front of her tonight (not that kind of cover) but cheap liquors. Jyn faked to take another sip of her drink, feeling the ruthless hand crawling under her dress getting bolder by the minute. The fool really thought he was doing something there; she refrained from telling him that he made her as dry as the Scraplands.

Hidden behind her cup, Jyn kept on scanning the room, searching for her mark. She knew he was here— was _supposed_ to be here according to her intel. She had a limited amount of trust invested in the market, but Rez was one of her lucky picks. So when he said his Falleen client had a meeting with one of the new officials, she believed him. When two others reported similar information later that week, Jyn knew something unusual was about to occur. That itch down her spine never left…

Jyn trusted her instincts more than she trusted people; but for the first time, she wished she could’ve been wrong. The confirmation came when Gabrael Willix crossed the border of Government Circle… _that snarkin’ fekking idiot!_ , walking straight into the hospitality of the Mantellian spice cartels. Did he really think he could shake hands and harmonize the situation? They would skin him alive if he even blinked wrong, for no other reason than impeding on the Burke’s dynamic and waving an Imperial flag over his head.

Theoretically not her problem, yes— but she needed him _alive_ , for her own agenda. That’s what she told herself anyway (with a bit more insistence than strict honesty would have suggested). If she had to—

 _Marked_. Jyn’s vision tunneled on him, a breath caught in her throat. He stood a few meters away, talking to the Codru-Ji bartender with a neutral posture. _Why are you so relaxed? Get the hell away from here while you still can._ He did not. Jyn frowned, witnessing the exchange between Gabrael and the bartender with a curious mind. She had trouble believing a governmental agent would have known how to fall in Siome’s good graces so quickly. What sort of tricks had he pulled on her?

“Hey,” rasped the Devaronian next to her, “I don’t pay you to zone off.”

The pressure on her thigh viciously increased, nails digging in her skin like claws. Jyn had to shallow back a grunt of pain, trained to keep any sign of distress hidden behind an unbreakable mask. That would have only encouraged him to dwell on it; criminals liked the smell of fear. They thrilled from violence, blood as a catalyst to their most primitive urges—and this one was already buzzing to hurt her. (re: _not_ the ideal cover.)

“Sure,” she offered with a sultry voice. “How much did you win today? I’m going to get us some more drinks and then maybe I could get a little bonus… if I’m nice enough?”

The Devaronian let out a guttural, breathless sound. He grabbed her chin and forcibly turned her face towards him, blowing smoke as he exhaled. A crooked smile revealed rows of pointed teeth in a mouth she’d rather forget the taste of. “Greedy bitch, aren’t ya?”

Jyn smiled back, fanning a hand over the guy’s chest. “Am I _not_ nice to you?” she pouted.

He growled. She lingered for a few more heartbeats, willingly pressing her body into his hands to dilute his impatience. The iron grip on her thigh loosened, less irritated, and she took her cue to move. “I’ll be quick,” Jyn said, already on her feet. She didn’t react when he slammed a hard hand on her ass, sending her off towards the crowded bar section.

 _Banthafucker_ , she thought as she crossed the room.

Jyn squeezed herself between two high-chairs, elbows on the cold surface, and readjusted the brown leather corset marking her waist. The vibroblade hadn’t budged despite all the invasive grabbing and groping, solid shape pressed down her spinal cord. She could hardly smuggle any more than a single blade into the casino, if hadn’t been for the fact that she had been searched (obviously not well enough), the design of her silky dress didn’t offer many opportunities to gear up. So, the hand-size vibroblade would have to do.

“What are you doing here, _hrika_?”

Jyn smiled back to Siome, tilting her head a little to make herself heard over the loud, busy atmosphere. “I’m working,” she said.

“I told you not to come work here,” the bartender replied, mixing a blood-red substance in a transparent shaker with two of her arms. “It’s not safe for a little thing like you, you’re going to get into trouble.”

“Actually, I was hoping to keep someone else from troubles…” Jyn leaned on the bar, resting a hand under her chin. “Can you help, Mama Ji?”

As she received no answer, Jyn took it as an invitation to continue. Siome poured the crimson liquid into a square glass and a third arm added a sweetened fruit Jyn couldn’t name into the mix. The bartender pushed it towards Jyn, who graciously accepted, curling her fingers around the cold drink. “See my friend right there,” she said, pointing her glass towards Gabrael’s table, “the nice-looking one with tired eyes.”

“ _Friend_ , you said?”

Jyn frowned at the suspicion. “Well, not un-friendly… Do they plan on spiking his drinks?”

“No,” Siome turned around to grab a black frosted bottle from a shelf. “Just talk.”

“Hmm,” Jyn dipped her lips into the beverage, trusting no alcohol had been added to it. The sweet sugary flavor lingered on her tongue, rinsing away the sour taste of the Devaronian. _Just talk_. She didn’t believe that. “Can you make sure of it?”

“Don’t worry for your friend,” Siome said. “Worry for yourself, _hrika_. Do you know who you came in with?”

“Yes, I know.” Jyn pushed herself off the bar. “I can manage.”

Maybe she couldn’t manage after all. Oh, well. Things were bound to go to shit anyway, but that bastard had picked the _worse_ timing possible. Heavily panting, Jyn’s back hit a hard wall. She fought to draw some air back into her burning lungs, a hand pressed to her bruised neck. The other clutched around the grip of her blade. A warm spot of blood in the front of her dress caused the fabric to stick to her skin. The deep earthy color of her silk nicely hid away the evidence, as Jyn crouched down to clean the vibroblade on the Devaronian.

 _Fucking munk_. Served him well.

Jyn pushed the door of the ’fresher, leaving the dead man behind as she stumbled towards the end of a dark corridor. Her heart pulsed into her ears, remembering the warning signs she had caught from afar, watching Gabrael’s attitude gradually morph into recklessness. They _had_ to have found a way to lace his drinks.

Jyn was just about to intrude and drag his ass away from the group when her cover decided to stop playing like she needed him to. She should’ve listened to Siome. How badly was this going to affect her mission? Surely, dead bodies weren’t _that_ uncommon in the Lady Fate that someone would go around asking too many questions. Not the time to worry about it.

Jyn practically ran back to the crowded lounge. As she pushed a group of players away from her path, ignoring the following stream of Huttese insults, her peripheral vision registered the absence of Siome behind the bar. _Shit. Shit. Shit._ Jyn reached the now-deserted table, looking around trying to locate Gabrael with a growing, frantic urgency.

A chair laid on the ground, drinks had been spilled, no one was in sight. _So that was it_ , Jyn thought. She had fucked up, again. And if only she had intervened when—

A noticeable sound of commotion stirred Jyn from her internal dread. She advised a door a few meters away and instinctively moved in the direction of the nearby agitation. Jyn’s eyes mapped the configuration of the back room, scanning empty booths as she walked past them without a sound. The closer she got, the more distinct the action became.

Blood was drained from her face when she got visual confirmation of what she had already figured out. She located Gabrael over the back room’s empty bar, clothes savaged, someone pressed over him to keep him immobilized. Still moving. _He’s not dead. He’s not dead. Help him._ Jyn didn’t waste time thinking about specifics, she ran numbers. Four to one. Not an overly bad prospect, but Jyn had known better odds. Especially when she had nothing but a vibroblade on her. She wasn’t going to delay anyhow.

She twirled the blade in her dominant hand and snuck behind the closest target. When they finally registered her presence, stepping out of the shadows, Jyn plunged the vibroblade into the man’s neck with a hard blow. Arterial blood spurted from the wound, splashing on her face while Jyn gave a ferocious twist and drew the weapon back. The man clutched his hands around his neck, falling on his knees with a morbid sound of suction. She didn’t see what happened to him after that.

Jyn turned around, evaluating the rapid-changing situation. Now that surprise wasn’t on her side anymore, she had to act fast.

She barreled forwards and lunged her knee into her next target’s middle. The man barely bent over but made sure to slam his elbow onto her face, trying to reach for something with the other hand. Jyn tasted blood in her mouth, the muscles of her neck burning from pain. A feral grunt escaped her lips while her brain kept screaming: _blaster, blaster, blaster_.

Jyn blocked a blow aiming for her head and spun them around, using the man as a human shield between her and the two others. The initiative proved to save her life when someone started shooting at her. The body struggling against her suddenly went limp and fall to the ground. She wasn’t about to complain about _that_ , but—

Short of breath, Jyn jumped to the side to evade another blaster bolt. Something exploded above her shoulder as she ducked down. The inertia of her body brought her on the taller one, the one that had been molesting Gabrael moments before. Jyn locked her arm around his neck and ferociously pulled back. She didn’t have time, however, to aim for his guts and only managed to slashed a superficial wound on his torso. The last of them was already trying to restrain her, visibly refraining from shooting his associate in the process. He must have been the leader, then. What a night to find criminals with a sense of loyalty.

Jyn didn’t break her hold on Tall Shit but the situation started to go downhill, fast. A foot caught her in the stomach and she almost lost her grip on the vibroblade, fighting to breathe and block the next attack at the same time. She wouldn’t rescue anyone if they managed to kill her first. She should have dragged him away way sooner. Thinking about the way they jumped on him, about what they were about to do to him— _Not Now._

Jyn almost screamed when someone slammed the hard, heavy grip of a blaster against her ribs. She wasn’t doing so hot right now. Sweat started to make her palms slippery and her muscles cramped.

Still trying to find an opening on the tall one, she rotated her body to mercifully escape another blow and grant herself some time. Upon hearing the sizzling detonation, Jyn almost thought one of them had managed to catch her off-guard. She expected a sudden burst of pain, but the input of her brain never came.

The restrain on her left arm disappeared instead, and another dead weight fell to the ground. Jyn refocused her entire energy on the last opponent, her breathing coming in short pants and blood pounding in her veins. She hooked a foot around his right leg and pulled him down. He hit the floor with a sharp cry of pain, landing on his back and neck. Too bad he didn’t break it. She would gladly finish the job for him, though.

Jyn aimed the blade at him with a burning rage. That fucker had it coming—

“Wait! Leave him!”

The voice didn’t come from her target, nor the fallen. Jyn grabbed the man by the collar and put her blade to his throat before taking her eyes off him long enough to track the source of the yell.

On his hands and knees—no, not even: on his stomach, Gabrael had crawled over to her first victim’s body. He’d taken the guy’s blaster and had it gripped in both his hands, his elbow and forearm braced on the body, to aim. Gabrael turned the muzzle now, away from the one he’d shot off her back, focusing so hard sweat stood out on his brow, to aim between the last man’s eyes.

“You leave alive,” grunted Gabrael. His voice was thick and eyes glazed from whatever they’d dosed him with. His blaster hand, however, was incredibly steady. “Uphold the deal. Keep your group to it. Everyone at the meeting saw how it was. No one’s gonna believe _I_ jumped _you._ Plus, I’m about to get Imperial med aid, and I’m pretty sure this blaster’s been personalized. Plenty of evidence to put a price on your head. So. Keep the feking license. Use it or not. Tell Black Sun for all I care. Just stay away from me, and her, and don’t fucking interfere with my goddamn bounty. If I get taken out, those licenses I authorized get flagged and everybody gets the heat. So it won’t be just the Empire you have to run from. Are we fucking clear?”

Probably the stupidest shit she’d heard tonight. How could he even think this would work out? For nearly a second, Jyn felt inclined to yell her searing rage at him. But Gabrael was in no shape to take it. He couldn’t even stand. He was drugged and concussed. He’d been brutalized and nearly further violated. —Yet, he was still thinking of strategy. As Jyn spared another beat to stare at him— _The mission comes first,_ ran through her mind.

The man still in her grasp, exuding defeat, nodded hard.

Alright, then.

“Guess it’s your lucky day,” she whispered like a threat, “but I suggest we don’t meet again because I only like rapists with no pulse.”

With that, Jyn spat the blood pooling in her mouth into his face and got up (all bruised and aching). Nearly not the time to take a break. She had to get Gabrael out of here before the wrong kind of people started to show up to clear the scene.

Jyn slid the blade in the front of her corset and put her (blood-stained) hands on either side of Gabrael’s neck, trying to get his attention as she rolled him over. “Hey, _hey_ ,” she said, feeling his frantic pulse under her fingers with a worried mind. “Look at me. We have to move, _now_.” She eyed the state of his clothes. His jacket and belt were long gone; not worth trying to retrieve in this mess. Leaving evidence on the scene might even strengthen his assertion that the whole underworld would know who’d done what. (Whatever it was that they were doing…) His shirt was untucked and torn partly open. His pants were _( **fucking hell** )_ undone, but he’d pulled them up in order to crawl. So… he could move. She wasn’t going to do anything else about it in case that would spook him out. “Hold on to me, I’ve got you.”

His eyes finally left his target and turned to her. The breath he let out was more surprised than made sense.

Surprised. And relieved. And… something… deeper… _emotional,_ that…

She didn’t take time to parse it and he didn’t, either. Keeping the gun aimed with one hand, he raised his other to slip his arm around her shoulders. He clearly tried, though didn’t do very well, to hold some of his own weight as Jyn levered him up. Good thing he was (badly, she could now see and feel through his battered clothes) so thin, and she was (as few would credit her smallness) so strong. He stuck the blaster in his holster (modified or not, it fit) as they exited the room; and, with mixed success, swiped the blood from his mouth. To casual eyes, they’d look like a debauched drunk with a designated friend. Nothing unusual around here.

“I’ve got you,” Jyn said again, dragging him outside of the casino through a back exit. “It’s okay.”

He never resisted her, and responded, best he could, to her every verbal and nonverbal lead. Like they were proven partners.

Like he trusted her with his life.


	4. Ephemerides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **ephemeris** _(astronomy)_ the expected positions of astronomical objects in the sky at various times.  
>  **ephemera** _(general)_ things that exist or are used or enjoyed for only a short time.

**04: Ephemerides**

The hands pinning him vanished. Cassian dropped.

Blindly, he clamped his forearms and fingers over the bar. White-knuckled, shaking, he held on from the chasm and tried not to let the speeding planet throw him off.

 _Focus. Come back._ He turned his face to open his eyes and see what the feke was going on.

Sounds of fighting. Okay, the immediate horror was off his literal back. But too many questions. Who? Why? What next? He couldn’t see well enough. _Pfassking…!_ He threw more power to his ears. The sounds people made in combat were depersonalized, but Ng’ok and his entourage had all registered deeper, and the new voice, higher. Mama Ji? Would she go this far to save him? Because she patronizingly liked him? To be right-minded? Just because? He hadn’t thought so… but holy hell, the way the smaller figure was _whirling_ and _whipping_ around, taking out the bigger, outnumbering figures with amazing technique… yes, he thought he could make her out as having four arms.

Okay. Against the odds, for whatever reason, he was being rescued. So. How could he help? —or prep for what next in case his savior turned out _not_ to be?

He couldn’t stand. So he wouldn’t be able to fight. Not by hand. There were other ways. Some assailants had fallen; he registered one nearby. Suppressing the irrational dread of falling, Cassian let go of the bar.

He crumpled more than fell. Fine. The floor was more to hang onto, anyway. Smell proved the most helpful sense for locating the fallen. To avoid drawing attention, or because he couldn’t do otherwise, he army-crawled (c’mon: dragged) himself to the body, keeping his eyes, for the good that did, on the frenetic blur of combat beyond.

There… body. Not breathing. Don’t worry about that now. Cassian dug in his hands, searching… and, _yes, there:_ a blaster. It wasn’t Cassian’s, that they’d taken. That would have been too lucky. —Though actually, this one had been modified, which he also noted for later. Still now: _claim position; help her._

Pulling himself the last forward and over, Cassian braced himself on the body. (He thought of Jenoport, telling Kay to kneel then propping himself on the metal back to aim his rifle—no, stop, don’t think of Jenoport.) He dug his elbow into the body, and clamped his other hand, braced too, around his forearm as he raised the blaster, to hold it true.

He squinted down the barrel, forcing himself to see. The small figure of his savior; the larger remaining ones around her; one had her restrained.

_Aim compromised. Could hit her. Don’t._

_She’s pinned. What they were going to do to you—what will they do to her?_

He narrowed his eyes so hard his head throbbed. He called on every technique he had and every last dreg of adrenaline.

_Don’t hit her don’t fucking hit her fucking don’t don’t you fucking fuck up_

He fired.

The big figure dropped away from Cassian’s champion.

Another glint. No time to unfocus. Cassian sloppily, sluggishly whipped his sights to the last assailant breathing. It might be Ng’ok himself, ’cause wasn’t that fucking typical, leaders always letting their subordinates fight and die first… but, Ng’ok or not, Cassian needed _one_ alive. To go back in shame, prove the deal genuine, not leave the others to imagine that Cassian himself might have laid a trap to thin the herd…

Faster than Cassian, his champion moved. She was about to finish the last one off.

“Wait!” choked Cassian. “Leave him!”

She (still unclear in his worthless eyes) acceded. She got the guy in a restraining hold, but waited for Cassian to go on.

Cassian wasn’t sure everything he said next was all he needed, or in quite the right order, but it would have to do. The man’s body language, as far as he could make out, was submitting; convinced.

Cassian still didn’t breathe. Until he felt _entirely different_ hands on him, a completely different touch, and looked up to have his hazed vision filled with Nova Sande’s hard-set, enraged, _lovely, luminous_ face.

No, wait. He was hallucinating. That couldn’t be right. Unless he hadn’t recognized her, or hadn’t believed it, or had been too deep in combat mode to let it properly register. (Also, _fuck,_ she’d fought like that with only _two_ arms…?!)

No. Yes. _Nova._

He almost wept like a pittin.

He didn’t. He tried so, so hard to be better than useless in getting to his feet. He tried to improve on _that_ abject failure as she got him out of the bar. Where was Mama Ji? Would she ever let him operate there again? Would _he_ be so bloody-minded as to try?

He tried. He failed. But _she_ was succeeding. Saving him and moving him. He didn’t know where. He didn’t know what he’d do if he could bring himself to care.

…No, not that he didn’t care. He _cared_ … maybe _more._

But… it was okay.

So he followed her and tried not to collapse as a deadweight on her shoulders or slip through the molecules of the ground. He hung onto her through the street and in his plunging, crashing mind.

_Stay with her._

Oh Force.

_Nova._

⁂

The freezing air of the night hit her burning skin like a bucket of iced water. Jyn shivered and tightened her arm around his waist, dragging him through the crowded streets of the gambling districts. She kept glancing around, half-expecting to see someone stepping out of a dark alley to slash their throats in retaliation.

She’d been _so_ fucking stupid. Three weeks carefully building a network and a profile, scrapping pieces of intel one by one, just to throw everything away on a whim.

If Nova Sande wasn’t burned after tonight… Well, fuck it.

Looked like ‘no matter the cost’ didn’t actually cover all the costs in Jyn’s mind. She couldn’t have left him. She couldn’t have turned a blind eye and walked away. It hurt too deeply just to think about it, to see him pinned down and helpless and— so she simply stopped. They were halfway through the outer circle of Herglic's Folly, lost into anonymous faces in the dead of the busy night. Jyn pushed her body into his to support his weight; his arm around her shoulders not as strong as she would’ve liked. She glanced at him, fearful of his condition, shadows moving on his face each time they stepped into the light of a street shop.

“Stay with me, okay?” she said, wondering if he registered her voice at all.

“ ’m with you,” he mumbled back.

They weren’t that far from the Parallel, but it felt like a whole pilgrimage to get there. Probably not the safest place, but Jyn wasn’t confident that he would have made it any farther. She decided that she would take that risk, for now.

Their entrance wasn’t quite as dramatic as she had feared. Few things could be deemed shocking in a whorehouse, and a drunk man slumping on his host didn’t raise any flag around. For which she was glad, because dragging Gabrael up the stairs finished draining all of the strength Jyn had left in her. She let the man fall on her bed and jump back to lock the door (just in case). Then, breathless and drenched in sweat, Jyn unlaced her corset to _finally_ take a real breath. She would come to need it.

“Hey,” she tried to get his attention back to her, hovering over him and a hand on his face. “Hey, what did they give you? Did you drink it?” She needed to narrow down the options if she intended to do something about it.

Brow creased, eyes closed, Gabrael shook his head. “Cross-reaction… Falleen phenethylamines, airborne; Corellian brandy, drunk; dermal absorption… application…” his hand went to the side of his throat, which she now noticed to be reddened in the square shape of a ripped-off patch. “…depressant… muscle-relaxant… but they’d want me conscious… I think myoplexaril or somaprin.”

Well, fuck.

“I can’t give you anything for that, you’ll get into respiratory distress. You need to ride it off. I’m sorry, it’s going to suck real bad for the next six hours…”

Jyn let her thumb stroke his cheek without thinking, then caught herself and stopped. She rested her weight on her other hand, pressed next to his shoulder, and realized she was leaving bloodstains on her sheets.

“Can’t go back to base yet,” Gabrael managed. “Was bluffing about Medical… I can’t have this logged…”

“Are you insane? What do you think I dragged you here for? You’re staying with me!” And damn it all; everything she should’ve have marked (cold analytic mind, specialist skills, clandestine meeting, trading with criminals, unable to get Imperial help, keeping it off the logs)… everything affirming that Gabrael was someone else than he claimed to be, and Gabrael was probably not even his real name— but damn it.

She couldn’t walk away, she couldn’t leave him. She didn’t _mark_ it.

Just for now, she lied to herself, just be Nova until the sun comes out. There would be a tomorrow to face the consequences of all the disastrous decisions she had taken tonight, and Jyn would have to keep herself accountable for putting the mission at risk—putting _so many_ people at risk. _Reckless irrational behavior_. But Gabrael was a person, too. A person she had been, and _blast!_ , she would have given anything, then, for someone to help and protect her.

Jyn settled back on her heels, feeling like her heartrate should have long been back to normal by now. It wasn’t quite yet. “Are you hurt?” she finally asked. “Other than… drugged.”

It took him a minute. _(—Pain?—Disorientation?—)_ At last; dispassionate, dismissive even: “Rib might be broken. Might be just bruised. Concussion, probably. Twisted wrists. Bloody mouth.”

His hand fumbled for hers, brushing the one she had braced to the mattress. Not trying to hold it. Just… touching. “Would have been worse,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

_(—Gratitude.)_

Jyn forced herself to swallow past the forming lump in her throat. “Don’t fall asleep,” she said, her voice too hoarse and heavy. She opened her palm to him and held his hand with a gentle pressure. She watched his face carefully for any sign of panic, ready to let go if he had wanted to. “I’ve got some bactagel, so I can at least do something for you… Do you want to change into clean clothes?”

His hand turned over and returned the hold. His eyes belatedly opened. He lifted his other hand to almost touch her face where an elbow had struck. It must’ve left a mark. “What about you?” he said quietly. “Are you okay?”

Jyn exhaled a silent sound of surprise, so… unused to be asked the question. Even less here, now, when _he_ was the one so compromised and yet still thinking about her with, as far as she could tell, genuine concern. Her stomach turned from a devastating need. Jyn pressed her lips together, suppressing the pathetic tremor that menaced to escape her. She didn’t want to make it about her, not even for a single second.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.” She moved her free hand to his neck and monitored his pulse again, barely less frantic. The burn of his skin pulled more emotions from her overworked brain, breaking down the restraint. Jyn gently traced his jawline with her thumb and said: “Just don’t stop breathing unannounced, okay?”

“Okay,” he murmured. He tilted his head, touching the edge of his face to the back of her hand. …almost… like… a kiss.

She had to suppress a shiver. He hopefully didn’t notice.

“Don’t need to use up your bactagel,” he said belatedly. “Only place it would work is my lip and it tastes terrible.” More likely, he wanted to save it for her. “Clothes would be great but can wait ’til I can… you know… change into them.”

It _did_ taste terrible, although Jyn refrained from telling him that someone who looked like death shouldn’t be so difficult. As for the rest, she wasn’t going to push him. Jyn considered offering her help, but instinctively voted against it. She would’ve hated for a stranger to undress her after a night like this one.

 _However_ unstrange _they seemed._

“Alright,” she said with a soft voice. “I need to get my hand back for a minute. Remember what I said, don’t stop breathing.”

He let her go at once. “I promise.” As she got up, he added, “If I start talking to myself, it’s to stay awake. I’ll keep it quiet.”

Jyn pulled the dress above her head, throwing the blood-soaked, ruined fabric to the ground in a tight ball. She had her back turned to him, going through her dresser to snatch a long-sleeved shirt and a pair of black underpants. “Why, you can talk to me,” she said as she changed. She pulled her hair out of the way into a bun, already feeling some strands coagulating together. A shower sounded like paradise, but she wasn’t going to step away from Gabrael. (…who could really use one, too. Damn her, _there_ was a thought.)

“You might have had previous plans.” A glance back showed he was (closed-eyed) actually smiling.

Jyn silently walked back to the bed. “Like what? I’m done kicking ass for the night,” she let some sarcasm elevate her spirit. Then: “Do you want me to take your boots off?”

He’d proved himself the type—didn’t want to make her do anything further when he felt indebted already. But, ahead of the curve, he’d also figured out he shouldn’t try to make her _not_ do what she chose to. He said only, “Thanks.”

There was lag, but his sluggish mind was still making connections. He said abruptly in a slightly different tone: “Where’d you learn to fight like that?”

_Not like a prostitute._

No good answer to that question. This precarious balance couldn’t be misaligned— not now. Not for his sake; but mostly, beyond yet another lie she fed herself tonight, not for her own gain. _Don’t hate me just now. If we can pretend we don’t know better, we can have more time together. As long as we don’t say the words, nothing is real._ Jyn kneeled down in front of him, her fingers methodically pulling loose the shoelaces. She took off one boot, then the other, and used the edge of the bed to get back up. She grabbed the back of his ankles to rotate his legs and align them with the side of the mattress.

 _Mistake._ He wasn’t as (impossibly) unaffected as he was behaving. She should’ve known better. Being grabbed, and so low down, he suddenly, convulsively shuddered. Jyn immediately withdrew her touch. “Sorry,” she whispered with a sting of guilt, “I should’ve asked.”

“No… I mean… you _did._ ” He modulating his breathing. Blindly, his hand reached again for her. Like he was worried to say it, but it was all he _could_ say: “…come back?”

Jyn sat next to him, her back on the wooden headboard, and slid her fingers in between his own, keeping his hand from falling away. She didn’t know where to draw the line anymore, letting herself be this intimate with someone she barely knew.

She should have been more careful, dangerously slipping on a path where _she_ was the one holding the power and cutting back his agency— even when he did not realize it, because he _couldn’t_ , not after this snarkin’ disaster. But Jyn knew better.

She wondered why he sought out her touch like he did. Comfort, probably, yes. Although when she looked at him, he didn’t seem like someone used to display any type of vulnerability in front of others. Even now, Jyn could still outline some of his restraint, still in control, still aware of his words. _Trained_. Yes— but looking for a hand to hold.

( _Her_ hand to hold.)

“Can I ask you something?” Jyn said, looking down at his unbelievably tired face.

“Don’t know I can answer,” he mumbled, “but, sure.”

“The first time you came here, why did you pay me extra if you weren’t going to come back?”

A muscle moved in his face. “I know it’s not up to me… but… I liked the idea of you having some time, where you didn’t _have_ to do anything. For anyone else.”

“Hmm,” Jyn pensively acknowledged. “You’re a weird one, you know…” _A nice one. Why the hell are you half-dead in my bed tonight? What are you_ really _doing here? Why don’t I mind not knowing the answers if you stay a little longer? Please, stay. We don’t have to lie if we don’t ask the questions._

“Yeah,” he agreed, smiling slightly again. …Then: “I wished I’d met you somewhere else. Somewhere I knew you could say ‘no’. Then I could trust it if you said ‘yes’.”

Jyn’s heart missed a beat. Don’t think about it, she told herself. _Don’t you dare… don’t you dare make me think that this feeling is mutual… whatever this is… the hungry connexion of… your soul and mine._ But the words stayed, and Jyn knew she would hear them for the rest of her life. Wherever the most alone she would find herself; to know that they could have had something different, if only they had been different people… non-strangers to each other…

…the ache in her chest burned deep.

Before she had a chance to respond, he repeated: “Where _did_ you learn to fight?”

Jyn considered a believable lie, just to take the edge off, to walk away from the fall, to settle his mind and hers into tacit compliance— to save them from this invisible divide that would keep them apart. She only said: “I could tell you, but then I’d have to kill you and I wouldn’t have any chance to say ‘yes’.”

Definite reaction in his breathing to that. He opened his eyes, and for an instant, they were back in their first meeting.

“You’ve already saved me,” he said. “Don’t do anything else just for my sake.”

Jyn didn’t respond, scared to give anything away when he had already managed to get _way too much_ honesty out of her. She felt the danger of his pull, the orbital attraction, caging her closer and closer. She felt the conflict of her mind, unable to stay clear of him. She was being reckless and irresponsible, and she hated herself for it— knowing people counted on her, trusted her.

But Gabrael trusted her, too.

 _He shouldn’t. You’re a lie._ Jyn tensed, sharp pain in her chest.

“I wish we’d met somewhere else, too,” she finally whispered.

His fingers tightened on hers. He bent his head forward again, touching his forehead to her side. _“Quiero decirte,”_ he breathed in a language she didn’t know.

_You know, then, that we cannot have this._

Jyn lightly brushed the hair behind his ear, waiting to see if he allowed her to continue. He didn’t show any discomfort at the touch—he turned _toward_ it. So she did it again, running her fingers on the side of his head. He moved closer still, ever so slightly, ’til he was resting over her thigh. Jyn closed her eyes. If she could pretend— just for a moment… Pretend that somewhere was here, with him.

Maybe it would be enough.

“ _It’s stormy and we’re here…_ ” she hummed in a soft voice, slower than her normal speaking voice. “ _...the hour is sinking us, and all of our own. Pride hung on, to other dreams… Men from here, dead elsewhere, will the blood tighten as well?_ ”

She had heard this song way too many times, too many to recall, sung around Separatist campfires—in the dead of those nights that had blurred into an infinite memory. To keep remembering, to keep from losing the heart of their fight. But never before the meaning of it had hit her like it did in that moment, feeling his breath on her like a countdown.

Gabrael didn't look so young, but Jyn thought he might be. _She_ was young, but had never been young entirely. She kept singing: “ _Where will it be… the last of our youth? No more running, we’re already home._ ”

His breathing had slowed to match with her song. His brow finally unfurrowed. He lay with his head in her lap, unselfconscious and, at last, without guilt. Possibly he wouldn’t choose to do this when not drugged… turn his face and rest his lips, just a moment, to her leg. She held on to that feeling like it was her last gulp of oxygen before being pulled underwater.

Then, he murmured in return: _“My star keeps me company and leads me through the night. My star watches over me and fills my dreams with light. Some things change but some things shine forever as they are. In the sky, shining high: my star.”_

Something warm and pleading burst into her at the sound of his voice.

Jyn silently kept on stroking his hair after that, knowing that nothing else could be said between them—nothing _honest_.

She stayed by his side to monitor his abused body, making sure that he stayed conscious and breathing. He still probably was in throbbing pain, and riding down a withdrawal spiral, but he never complained, never even made a sound of distress, only gripped her hand harder when he needed to feel her. _Still here._ She didn’t press for inputs, providing the only thing that she could offer right now: herself.

⁂

_(My star keeps me company)_

_never had a good trip because if he let the walls dissolve  
_ _what would that feel like  
_ _mind open - pliable uninhibited  
_ _resist it you know how  
_ _what could she get out of him  
_ _heart receptive and open just this once_

_(and leads me through the night)_ _  
_

_Not alone. I’m always alone. I hurt I’m tired I don’t want to be anymore  
_ _she’s always been alone too - don’t think for her - but you know - i **know  
**_ _for a moment it doesn’t feel like it  
_ _I’m not - she’s with me - she’s here - we are  
_ _“we”  
_ _who cares if it’s illusory dangerous  
_ _just for right now  
_ _right now  
_ _what we’re both giving  
_ _please just let me let us  
_ _just right now  
_ _let “us”_

She was touching him, holding him, gently. Keeping him from detonating like a mine, brushing back the battles from his head, reminding him of _rest._ He pressed his face to her and imagined _this_ transcending place and time; _no_ places, no time, nothing in the universe but themselves; together; for a lifetime?

_(my star watches over me)_

Over the next few hours, he had to be dragged a few times back to consciousness. He did end up talking to himself, in collisions of languages, regarding things imagined rather than deliberate monologue. He violently shook and poured out sweat and just once gripped her hand to the point of pain. Just once, he jolted and almost screamed.

_(and fills my dreams)_

By the time he pulled himself out of bed and stumbled to the ’fresher to vomit, it was actually a great sign: he was able to stand again.

_(with light)_

He reappeared at last in the doorway, leaning one-handed on the frame, and said in an exhausted but clearer, steadier voice: “Mind if I use your shower? I feel spit out by a rancor.”

“You smell like it, too,” Nova smirked. “Go ahead, I’ll get you some clean clothes.”

Cassian duly snorted, but also smiled. He left the door ajar in case he keeled over.

_(some things change)_

Force, the shower had _water._ He’d been using sonics a long while. He let it pound into his face, down his neck, back, chest… knowing it couldn’t remove the phantoms, but, right now, feeling good. He’d gotten through other traumas. He’d get through this one.

And alongside the echoes his skin hated to know… there was something it did want to keep. Her hands in his hair, on his face.

_(but some things)_

His mind was coming back online. —No. Not his mind. The walls in it. The ones that made structure out of chaos. In fits and starts. He was starting to draw the lines again.

_You can’t continue this. It compromises both of you. It will be so much harder when you have to shut out and walk away. …‘they fell into an intimacy from which they could never recover’… it can’t be so easy when existence goes against it… let a crack into the casement it’ll never seal back up_

_and you still have work to do_

It _wasn’t_ irreversible. These feelings, from the drugs or unlocked by them from himself, right now, didn’t matter; they would vanish as suddenly as they had come. The moment the sun shone, they’d have lives and jobs and names again. The mission would come first. They would remember the Galaxy.

_(shine forever)_

Remember. Prepare.

He wasn’t in the water long, just longer than his usual. He’d had it scalding and the room had barely steamed. He found a towel and scrubbed himself hard, easing up only for the bruising in his chest. It didn’t hurt like cardiac distress and there was no trouble breathing. Seemed likely the rib wasn’t broken after all. That would be nice.

Think, now. After such respite, strategy was needed. How to handle the next few minutes? He knew his endgame: maintain the haven they’d miraculously built, if only for a little longer—or only for show. Keep things [feeling] safe, for both of them; how they’d just been.

Seeing him naked would hardly shock her. But should he let her see…?

First, learn how she’d call it. He went to the door and knocked.

“What are you doing?” he heard her laugh softly. “You lost the key or something?”

“Not sure if I should come out, or you want to pass things in,” he called softly back. He didn’t need to ask how she’d have clothes for him. He’d worked in a brothel too.

“I think I can handle the handsomeness,” she answered. “But thanks for the consideration.”

He sputtered in protest. But, unlike so many times when his looks had been… a factor, this felt… okay. Like a shared joke. Reminder that she didn’t need him to protect her, even from him.

…but did _he_ need to protect himself from _her?_

_All resolved suddenly:_

_(As They Are)_

Detox achieved. Mind relocked. Sorting and sifting from overload back to work.

_Where did you learn to fight like that?_

_If I told you, I’d have to kill you._

_Why_ had she saved him?

How had she been in the right place at the right time?

_Where did you learn_

_I’d have to kill you_

The mission comes first.

He could not trust her. This feeling of _oneness_ they’d enjoyed, with his heart cracked open to her by shared action and trauma, ended now. The walls were back in his mind. Sealing back up his heart.

No matter the contraction of that hurt worse than at the bar.

_(In the sky. Shining high.)_

He wouldn’t walk away. He wouldn’t cut her out. In fact, he was going to have to keep a _closer_ eye on her, now on. Yes, she’d saved his life. For that, why and how, she made his watchlist.

He also couldn’t be conspicuous by clamming up or rushing out.

She was waiting for him to exit the ’fresher. He’d already agreed to put on the new clothes. His old ones, ruined for further use beyond their physical damage, he balled up and tossed down the waste duct.

He considered his scars. Gabrael Willix had shown himself to be not just a low-level bureaucrat—the title _agent_ already left more room for maneuver. Nonetheless, would an Imperial-adjacent contractor for the Ord Mantell government have been caught in shrapnel, or stabbed with a vibroblade, or carved with self-surgery, or…?

No. Okay. He wrapped the towel around his waist then grabbed another and draped it over his shoulders. Shrapnel and stabbing were masked. His worst scar was still visible—deep and jagged low on his ribs, curving around his hipbone and disappearing under the towel, testifying to something dug roughly out of deep tissue with an instrument not intended for the job. He had a story for it prepped. Poor boy surviving gang war and rising to feed his old village.

_If I told you, I’d have to kill you._

_I wouldn’t have any chance to say yes._

_(My star.)_

He let himself, a moment longer, close his eyes; press his forehead to the all-but closed door.

_Thank you, Nova._

_I gotta stop thinking of you as her, now._

_(My star._

_’Bye.)_

C. Andor—emptied out, sobered up, mind and heart barriers restored—opened his eyes; straightened, stepped back, and opened the goddamn door.

The woman sat cross-legs on her bed, holding a cup of what he imagined was a hot beverage. Her insightful gaze weighed on him with an intensity he couldn’t define, and though she wasn’t staring, she _looked_. She didn’t comment. Only pointed her chin at a pile of dark-colored clothes neatly displayed in front of him. “That should fit you,” she offered. “I made tea, if you want some. Caf lives downstairs if you’re that sort of masochist.”

The last hours of the night still hovered inside the softly-lit bedroom, causing her skin to look paler than she really was, stark contrast to her dark hair. Or was it fatigue?

Cassian gave her a smile, easier than real; waved off the tea, then bent to look through the clothes. He picked out trousers first. He turned away from her to pull them up under the towel. Next: plain, lightweight, long-sleeved sweater. He likewise swapped the towel for it quickly. She might have glimpsed some of what lay beneath, but no more.

He reemerged from hanging the towels in the ’fresher, and spread his hands, doing an exaggerated turnabout. “What do you think?”

“I think you need two extra inches on the sleeves but you’re pulling it off like a pro.”

 _A pro. Great._ He moved to push up the sleeve and winced as he touched the bruises on his wrist. “I’ll get these back to you,” he said. “Soon as possible.”

“You don’t have to,” she said under her breath, knees curled up against her chest.

They’d both felt the shift, then…? …and pfassk, his eyes went again to the bruises blossoming on _her_ face; the blood on her hands, in her hair.

He didn’t want to play her.

 _“us”_  
illusory  
_vanish in daylight_

It wasn’t day yet. They still had a little gray left.

He ducked back into the ’fresher, put one of the towels under the tap, and came back out. He sat on the edge of the bed and raised the towel, indicating a smear of blood beside her eye. “May I?”

She froze, something resembling apprehension passing in her eyes. Too swiftly to be certain. Already, she was forcing her shoulders to relax—he could follow the process like he was the one doing it. She put her cup aside and locked eyes with him, suddenly way closer than she had been a second before. “You don’t owe me,” she said, barely more than a whisper.

“Debatable,” he whispered back, with a realer thus more aching smile. “I know you can take care of yourself.” He rested his hand beside hers on the mattress, further away but not unlike before. “But I’d like to. Care for you a little, back. If it’s okay.”

She lowered her gaze then, evading. Her chest moved imperceptibly faster. “I can take care of myself,” she repeated like a mantra forced down on her, “but I’ll let you do it… if it makes you stay just a bit longer.”

Not just him and not just the drugs. Still dangerous. Still doomed. But yeah— “A bit longer,” he repeated. He couldn’t kiss her, but touched the corner of the towel to her face gently in his place.

He softly brushed the blood from her skin and out of her hair. He took her hand in his to wipe what remained from her palm. The unbodied, warless, Galaxy-free feelings he’d been able to connect with a few hours ago weren’t in reach, now… but _something_ was. Though it wasn’t the bond they might want the most, they _were_ bonded now. They’d fought together. He’d helped her. She’d saved him. They knew they were both lying. They knew they both weren’t what they seemed. …So they were, in a way, more together in that than when each had thought it was just themselves.

_Think I’ll ever get to learn your real name?_

They knew not to ask so the other wouldn’t have to lie. So… they were freed of wondering if they should. They sat together in silence now, as many walls between them as ever, but also… companionable. They couldn’t break the walls, but they could sit on them to look across.

_Unless/until we’re adversaries. Either way, more equal. A few hours’ more gray._

“I thought you were Mama Ji at first, back there,” Cassian murmured, attending to a little dried blood under her nails. “Could have sworn you were trashing them with four hands.”

She let out a deep-chested laugh. “I could’ve used an extra pair. I’ve heard body modifications are in vogue in the Cantonica system, should I take the plunge you think?”

“Your body, your decision; but if you’re asking… I wouldn’t change anything on you.”

“Wouldn’t you?” Nova said, all traces of humor forgotten. She curled her fingers to stop his gesture, peering into his eyes for something else than deceiving words, and Cassian realized her hand was shaking. “Sorry,” she pulled away the second she noticed _he_ had noticed. “I… just… I haven’t slept in a while… a bit tired.”

“You should sleep,” said Cassian at once, putting the towel aside. “I think I’m fine, now. At least, I don’t need to be watched.”

“Do you think… we could just… lie down, like last time…”

“Yes,” he said before thinking it through. …Choosing not to think it through. Who might be protecting/saving/using/playing whom, whether either of them were ‘really’ choosing… _You saved me I want to you’re asking I asked too_

_A little more gray._

Keeping his hand on her carefully to navigate around, Cassian moved up and beside her. He lay back onto the pillows and, this time, left his arm outstretched, at once. She moved closer, laying over his arm with a little ‘hmph’ when the back of her head finally hit a soft surface.

He’d positioned it so she was on the bad rib’s side. That was on purpose. He couldn’t put himself right against her or close her in his arms without it hurting. Yet to see if that would prove deterrent or fair cost.

But he did tilt his neck to touch their foreheads. A soft flutter of air hit his face when she exhaled. “Doesn’t it hurt?” she asked.

“It’s okay,” he responded without answering.

The echo was still in his bones, waiting until he was on his own again to shake its way out and put him back into it. …But that was later. Right now, he let it all down one more instant to murmur: “I’m glad I’m not alone. I’m glad it’s you.”

She rested a soft hand over his neck, her fingers stroking the shorter hair on his nape. “I’m glad you’re with me.”

He sank into her touch with the song in his mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Jyn's song is a loose translation of [Di Ghjuventù.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yFsS3kN1xmErel=)
> 
> [My Star](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/My_Star). Yeah, it’s from _Ewoks: The Battle for Endor._ I don’t care. Nova and Stardust!
> 
> _They slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered. _~ F. Scott Fitzgerald, _This Side of Paradise._ Does Fitzgerald exist in this Galaxy? Probably not. Let's say Cassian heard the quote in a holo.__


	5. Dark Adaptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **dark adaptation** _(astronomy)_ the eyes’ transition to night vision, in order to see faint objects. Dark adaptation can be ruined by a momentary glance at a bright light.

**05: Dark Adaptation**

“Liana, I’m scared.”

Jyn scooped closer to the young girl, both of them laying on the cold, hard floor of their prison. She gathered her in her arms, feeling the feverish burn of her skin spread through her ragged clothes. “Don’t be. It’s gonna be okay… hold my hand.”

The girl didn’t answer. Jyn squeezed her hand gently, trying to comfort her without knowing what else to do. It has been days now. Since that time she came back bruised and beaten from the upstairs. Jyn had tried to ask for help but no one cared; they didn’t care about any of them. Jyn had stopped asking then. She shared her blanket with the young girl, to keep her warm while she shivered in the dark of their everlasting nights.

And each time she closed her eyes, washed out by exhaustion, Jyn feared that she would wake up with a dead girl in her arms. But she couldn’t leave her alone, she couldn’t run away. She could only hold and cuddle and talk fantasies that would never come true, all in the hope to invite some light in this suffocating despair. All to make it better—for _her_.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Jyn whispered again.

“Tell me again…” a little voice breathed next to her.

Jyn slid an arm under her head, carefully pulling her into her embrace. She left a kiss on her forehead, pale imitation of Lyra’s memory kissing her goodnight from a lifetime ago. Her lips felt cold and chapped against the sweaty skin. Jyn closed her eyes, dark over dark, spiraling into a black abyss. The lump in her throat made her words slow and sluggish.

“We will go wherever you want… Next time I’m with the chief lieutenant, I’ll steal the access codes for his ship. We’ll go away.”

“Somewhere… with more suns?”

“Yes,” Jyn almost choked on her words. “More suns. You’ll never be in the dark again, I promise.”

“Liana…” A barely noticeable squeeze, back, around her fingers. “You have to go, even if I’m not with you.”

“You’ll be with me. I won’t leave without you.”

“You’re my best friend.”

Before she could try to say something else, the cell suddenly unlocked. A white light blinded her, harsh and abrasive. She had come to hate the light as well, each time she was dragged upstairs to please the Tenloss Syndicate—laying there for hours, dissociating from her body and soul, locked somewhere even darker in the pit of her mind. And if she rebelled, if she fought back… she would only come back even more hurt. Jyn didn’t stop trying.

But this time—they hadn’t come for her.

“Leave her alone,” Jyn forcibly cried as two pairs of arms ripped the fragile body from her own. “Don’t take her!”

_(You’ll be with me. Always.)_

_Don’t take her. Don’t take her. Don’t take her._

_(Please, Force, don’t let her suffer. Don’t let her die. Let her die. Let her go somewhere else.)_

_Don’t leave me alone._

_(Somewhere better.)_

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._

Her body hurt. Inside and out. Her mouth tasted like blood, her lungs emptied and burning.

Panic. Fear. Anger. _Rage_.

She couldn’t fight anymore.

Her eyes stayed open—fixed on a red ceiling. Her nails digging into brutal arms. The hands around her neck tightened, crushing tendons, bones, structure, resistance. No more air.

_I can’t breathe._

_Is this how I die? With no one to cry for me? I don’t wanna die here._

_I’m so alone._ She wished she could have shouted it. _Just let me have **someone**. I just want someone to never hurt me, to never leave me. _

_Don’t leave me!_

Jyn was jarred from sleep by a sudden scream.

She opened her eyes, gasping for air and disoriented, just to find herself engulfed in grey shadows. Anxiety rushed through her veins, paralyzing her mind and her senses. Her body felt heavy, uncooperative, muscles aching just from the effort of breathing… or was it something else? _I don’t wanna die here. Please, I don’t—_ A sobbing cry lifted her chest, tears rolling down from the corners of her eyes. _I don’t wanna be alone in here._

_Someone, please— don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me. Don’t take her. Don’t kill her. Please, forgive me._

“Hey—! Hey… Can you hear me?”

That was not the voice of anyone who should be (had been?) there. Low, worried, warm… Accent like… what? Unexpected, unimperial, somewhere far away from the Core… The proximity of that voice almost made her jump away, trying to situate herself in this unfamiliar place. Jyn blinked into darkness, trying to focus her vision. She couldn’t find any bars… just something soft, underneath her… _not_ the ground. Someone moved next to her. Wait. Not… cold. _Not alone._

Jyn tried to form some words; she only managed to choke on her tears, both arms pressed to her chest to contain the furious beating of her heart. And the strange _(unstrange)_ voice returning: “You’re safe. I’ve got you. You’re okay.”

Was she— safe, okay? It sounded like she could trust whoever had said the words. She wanted to, very much so.

Then, Jyn slowly started to put the pieces back together. The room wasn’t as dark as she thought it was. No red ceiling, either. She laid on a bed, _her_ bed, next to him. She did know his voice, easy to recognize, impossible to forget. So; she still was at the Parallel, and Gabrael was still here. Had stayed. Hadn’t left while she was asleep. Whatever time had passed since she closed her eyes.

Jyn wiped off the tears from her face, embarrassed and worried. That scream might have been hers. She could only hope that she hadn’t said _anything_ else.

“Sorry,” she growled, “sorry… I— nothing.”

For the third time since they’d met, Gabrael asked—with such immediacy and depth, like he _really, truly cared:_ “Are you okay?”

_No, I’m not. I don’t remember what it feels like. I don’t know how to be anything but broken, because that’s the only way to keep going, isn’t it? That’s why people keep fighting and hurting and giving everything away; because there’s nothing else for us if we stop._

“Yes, fine. Just… stupid dreams.”

He didn’t believe her answer. Clearly. But, he accepted it. Turning to better face her, his arms folding soft and careful around her… like they already had been… Had they? Had they before she’d fallen asleep? He winced when he did it _(broken rib? not?)_ but didn’t stop; pulling her gently closer with strength and warmth.

“I get it,” he whispered. “I’m glad you’re out.”

Jyn closed her eyes again, compelled by his touch, and pressed her face against his shirt. She sunk into his embrace, boneless and fragile; her whole body melted down from that glorious, addicting thrill of being _held_ by _him_. Deep in her bones, in her chest, in her stomach. An astronomical need, a pull to him. ( _Yes, that's how it feels. Now I know_ … _Fuck… Now— I **know**._) She didn’t dare to move her arms to hold him back, for fear of hurting him, holding too tight… never letting go ever again… but _holy fucking Force_ , did she wish she could. If she could just close her arms around him, fill her lungs with his perfume, and forget about the whole entire world—

Judging from his deepening breath against her, his rhythm becoming one with hers… _are you really here with me? whoever you are?_

“If—” he started.

A brutal slam on the door startled the both of them, stopping the words on his lips. She felt the ripples of his body against her.

“Nova!” someone (Csillag?) yelled through the door. “Troopers!”

Well, that sucked.

For a nanosecond, Jyn contemplated the stupid idea of doing… nothing. To just lay there, into his arms, and let the events unfold. She was so _, so_ tired of everything. If this was her last chance to be with him, she wasn’t so keen on moving. And to whatever odds the kriffin’ galaxy, right? No— _not right._ Okay. Let’s rebel, then.

Gabrael had shot upright at the knock. At the word _Troopers,_ his arm stayed (protectively?) around her, but his legs swung over the side of the bed. She might as well follow the movement. Heavy footsteps were ringing through the hallway. Jyn picked up voices and shouting. She grabbed his face between both hands, forcing his attention back to her.

“Don’t do anything stupid,” she whispered in a hurry.

_And if you knew my real name, maybe I would’ve kissed you goodbye._

She jumped on her feet right the instant something crashed on the other side of her door. Jyn considered her options. She could lunge for a blaster, or a blade, and make a stupid stand before getting shot. She could run for the window, hoping not to break anything and jump down. That would also, most probably, result in a fatal shooting.

Something else caught her eye—Gabrael, also on his feet, now moving… but not to get out or hide from this incriminating situation. Instead he was going… _toward?!_ the door. His eyes again met hers, almost… apologetic: _This what you mean by ‘stupid’?_ Then he pounded his fist against _this_ side of the door and shouted through it, “Calm the karking feke down! We’re coming!” He gave it a measured second and _opened the kriffing door._

_What in the hellish hell are you doing?_

On the other side, a full squad of white armors filled the upper floor.

Gabrael faced them down like they were a pod of porgs. “You’d better have some compelling fucking paperwork for this,” he growled.

“Move aside,” an anonymous voice barked at him. Jyn wasn’t pleased to discover them trigger-ready, especially when Gabrael insisted on standing between the squad and their designated target.

“Like hell,” Gabrael snapped back. “This is a private business and a residential floor. What’s your authorization?”

Jyn couldn’t help the blank look of surprise on her face. For someone to stand between her and the source of danger… with such determination… (or was it… assertion?) was unheard of. The warning signs kept flashing in the back of her brain. A vicious terror coiled inside her guts, _not_ at the sight of the Stormtroopers.

_You don't know… anything about him._

But _blast_!, he looked more pissed than she was. An achievement if she knew one.

“Move. Aside,” the acting officer repeated, taking a step forward to mark his point. The rifle in his hands realigned with a much closer opponent. Jyn felt a cold sweat down her neck. She aborted the idea of running away, closing the distance to Gabrael, and grabbed the back of his shirt like a warning. He ignored her, that fucker.

“Like. Hell,” repeated Gabrael, mimicking inflection. “Run _my_ authorization, then. _Jenth leth cherek dorn mern orenth thesh.”_

Also… _…hot_.

 _Fucking really? You’re going there_ right now _?_

“I couldn’t care less about _your_ authorization, whoever you think you are,” the man snarled. Though he did move his rifle away. —From Gabrael. Instead, he snapped it onto _Jyn._ “Nova Sande, you’re under arrest on charges of murder.”

Jyn couldn’t say the news came as a shock to her. She only wondered to _which_ murder she owed this unpleasant wake-up call. Yesterday, most probably. But even then, plenty of options to choose from. She had really, badly, totally, fucked up. _Is this how it ends, then? Another prison? Another shipment somewhere sentient rights mean nothing and—_ How was she going to explain this to Imgiri? Would she ever have the opportunity? Did she _care_?

“Don’t say anything,” Gabrael told her. (As if she was going to.) He turned again to the ’trooper. “Fine: you don’t care who I am. You’ll care who my boss is. And we’ll be looking into this.”

He spared one more glance at Jyn. Though his face was the one he’d put on for the Stormtroopers, a flash in his eyes was clearly just for her. _I promise._

Jyn thought it was futile for her to latch onto any sort of hope. And although some parts of her brain had registered every single one of his words, right now, moments before being dragged outside and escorted to the Red House by a full Imperial squad, she only had one persistent thought in mind.

Jyn wished she would have hugged him back, just once.

⁂

“ _Son of a fucking ruskakk,_ Will!” shouted Eoghan. “I took you there to _fuck_ her, not fuck _up_ for her! _Two_ pissing contests with full bucket squads in one week! The hell did she do to you? Force-erotic-asphyxiation? On your _brain?”_

“It’s not about her and you know it!” Cassian shouted back. (Did he? Really?) “The way these Imps run roughshod on your people—your planet! They say you can keep your way of life, self-govern on the local level, then they pull this despotic bullshit on civilians! If you’re okay with all that, why did you hire _me?”_

“To keep things _off_ the Imperial logs!” Eoghan expostulated. “Not make a name for yourself on them!”

“Fine,” snapped Cassian. “I didn’t want to tell you until I had it hard confirmed, but she’s part of my investigation.”

That stopped Eoghan cold.

Cassian grabbed the back of his own brain in a mental fist, warning: it _better_ be able to back up that instinct he hadn’t admitted to himself twelve seconds ago.

Between her arrest and this meeting, he’d dove back to his quarters; stashed away the stolen blaster and borrowed clothes; gone through two months’ worth of medpac supplies to heal or hide his conspicuous injuries; and, while that worked: gone scouring the holonet and sliced government records, into and beyond her file. _‘Nova Sande’. What now I know…_ He didn’t have all of it yet but he needed to keep anyone else from getting it, too.

He now stood in Eoghan’s office in his own changed clothes, transponder and backup blaster affixed, (if this one went he’d have to requisition a new one and he didn’t want to fill that padwork,) and only the (worst) invisible injuries testifying anything had happened.

“Is the murder charge part of it, too?” said Eoghan.

“Not necessarily,” said Cassian. _Depends who it’s for._ “But I can’t afford to have her taken out. Not yet. And not by _them.”_

_Not by you, either. Don’t look further. By the Force, please._

Eoghan’s lips thinned as he considered. It wasn’t his nature to be satisfied with so little explanation… at the same time, Cassian’s work so far had led Eoghan and his other superiors to not only take ‘Willix’ at his word, but accept it as _better_ to not delve further.

“The murder victim was a known extortionist and violent thief,” said Eoghan finally. (So the roomful of dead spice runners just disappeared. The principle sucked mud, but the reality, right now, was helpful.) “He’d been just barely avoiding official booking for over a year, but everyone wanted to get rid of him. The fact that someone finally did… There are a lot of suspects. Even if it _was_ her…” Eoghan heaved a sigh. “If I get her released into your custody, will you quit karking publically with the bucketheads? —I’m serious, Will. It’s like you _enjoy_ it.”

“I really don’t,” growled Cassian. He wasn’t lying. He had thought, at the build of this cover, how novel it would be, to be in a position not only _able_ but _expected_ to take no gundark from Stormtroopers. Instead of evading, fighting, killing or being killed by them, he should face them down, question, challenge, and refuse. He’d wondered if it could be… Force knows, cathartic.

Instead, less than a month into the mynockmuck, he’d found himself missing the cleaner straightforwardness of exchanging fire.

“Okay,” said Eoghan. Still intensely irritated, but also knowing how deep he and all of them were with ‘Willix’ already. “She’s yours. She can’t go unaccompanied until she’s officially cleared. You’ll be her… warden, case officer, whatever. Keep her low profile and do what you have to. In whatever sense.”

Cassian obligatorily rolled his eyes. Privately haunted by _‘she’s yours’._

“But it better not _just_ be that,” warned Eoghan. “Or if it is, make the excuses really fucking convincing. Is that all?”

“That’s all,” said Cassian. “Thank you.”

“Get kriffing going,” said Eoghan.

Cassian saluted him with two fingers and left.

 _Who **are** you? _asked the mental Kaytoo. _You’re not like any of this._

 _Good,_ thought Cassian grimly. _That’s the point of playing a part._

 _Not to get lost in it, either,_ said Kay.

_I’m not. …not in **it**._

_Not in her, either._

_ Not yet. _

No matter the planet, no matter the jailers, prison cells always were basically the same. Cassian hated them already. The thought of _her_ in one…

Why did he keep thinking he _knew her?_ Why did he presume to see connections? Reflections? But it was… visceral. The thought of _her, particularly,_ in a cell, made his insides churn. For her.

_I’m afraid of the dark._

_I’d love to be seen with you in the light._

Time to prove it.

“I’m here for Nova Sande,” said Cassian to the warden. The line of cells was right there; she might be able to hear him. He handed over the scandocs and hoped it wouldn’t be another interminable wait. _For her._

⁂

This wasn’t the kriffin’ fucking plan. This wasn’t supposed to happen.

She had it all under control not one week ago, and then— Then, Gabrael Willix. Or whatever his real name might be. Governmental agent… _what a load of banthashit._ He was onto something big, most likely involving spice cartels, criminal syndicates… Black Sun. Jyn replayed the events from the night before with a much clearer, sharper vision. ( _Now that you’re not thinking about getting in bed with him_.)

Had she… been played… _by him_? Used her to do his dirty work and get rid of her on the first occasion? He couldn’t possibly… He couldn’t have orchestrated his own assault. Even though, she had caught them just moments _before_ and— No. Definitely not.

 _But are you certain?_ a familiar voice kept asking, insistent.

Yes, I am.

…because you want to be. Because you can’t take it any other way. Because if he had been using _you_ , while you should have been using _him,_ then you deserve to be here. And if nothing was real, then you can’t keep that memory of him holding you. You must face the darkness again.

In here. Trapped. Alone.

Jyn had sunk to the ground; her first instinct telling her to curl up on herself, back to a corner, blind spot secured, knees up, defensive barrier. Keep the last warmth, spare the strength. Don’t think. Don’t think. _Do. Not. Think._ Just wait. Situational awareness. The darkness cannot hurt. ( _Liar_.) Jyn pressed her tied hands to her face and winced from pain. She carefully touched her cheekbone with feather-light fingertips, swollen and tender. Not broken, she assessed. It would probably turn a funny color to match the bruises on her ribs and arms. Could be worse. So much worse.

Her head fell back against the cold wall. The cell she’d been thrown into smelled of salt and foul, moist air. No other prisoner in sight. The magnetic binders around her wrists dug like blades against her skin. They would cut through it soon enough, leaving her with new scars to replace the ones from Verisin. How ironic.

_Is this my punishment? For failing her? Is this everything that will be left of me when—_

Jyn slammed the back of her head against the hard stone, prying a grunt of pain from her lips. _Focus. Focus. Focus. It’s nothing new. You’re still breathing, you can still fight._

_You can still fight._

What would they do with her? Charged for murder, so likely to be sent to a working detention center. Would she spend the next few years digging spice for the Empire? Unless they kept her locked in here, paid her some visits to ‘pass time’ and ‘elevate the garrison moral’. Jyn couldn’t stop the horrified shiver running down her spine. She’d rather be sold into forced labor than become another prison whore, _not_ when she couldn’t choose. Not when she didn’t have control.

Not when she couldn’t fight back.

How long until the Shift labeled her a missing asset? How long until they sent somebody else to complete the mission? Would they? Not unlikely. Would they try to locate her? Very unlikely. Jyn knew the risks when she accepted a blind jump to Ord Mantell; no one would come for her. She was alone in this. _Ish’ka_ — so fekking alone.

She wished she had kept Lyra’s necklace, no matter how useless the thought might’ve been. She wondered if Asegga would hold on to it, if she would ever be able to go back for it.

_Don’t kid yourself, Erso. You’re not seeing the light again for a very, very long time. You played, you lost. Was it worth it— throwing everything away for a man that never once said the truth?_

(Shut up. Some of it was true.)

_Was **he** worth the fall? _

(No, never. But what if I wish he was? What if— when he held me— )

_—I’m glad it’s you._

And if he was a liar, he truly was the most convincing one of the galaxy. She should’ve known: up until now, it had been her job. No one could be trusted in this game. Not even him, especially not him. She had reached too close to that searing fire.

_Now watch me pick up the ashes with burned hands._

The door unlocked with a pleading sound of cheap circuits. Jyn recoiled like a hunted wolf, (vainly) trying to put as much distance as she could manage between her and the warden. She hadn’t thought someone would come _this_ soon. It didn’t matter; she couldn’t escape the inevitable. _Be done with it, so I’ll know how it’s gonna be like in here._ She picked up another silhouette behind the first man.

“Sande,” the warden barked, pointing a sizzling electrobaton towards her. “Get up and moving.”

 _Moving? Why? Where?_ Jyn didn’t react fast enough to his liking. The man took a step inside the cell, displaying every intention to make her move. She clutched her arms against her chest, a visceral instinct of preservation running through her muscles like an aftershock.

A brutal hand slammed over the warden’s shoulder, stopping him dead on his tracks. “ _Don’t touch her_ ,” a low, furious— _familiar_ —voice growled in the dark.

Jyn’s head started spinning like a rock stranded in a cosmic storm.

The warden stepped aside. He could've been a race’s starting gate: as soon as the way cleared, Gabrael Willix was past him like a fathier. He knelt before her, reaching a hand without making contact. “Hey,” he said softly. “You wanna get out of here?”

Dumbstruck and speechless, weary, careful still— Jyn nodded. He touched her elbow— _how_ so gentle, always, even so urgently?—to help her to her feet. He kept his hand there, barely touching, useless, except maybe symbolically, as he walked her out. She didn’t protest the escort, determined to take her luck and shut her mouth.

 _Congratulations,_ ran through her head, bitter and nonsensically: _you are being rescued._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, look at that, they're stuck together for a while now... 😏  
> Hope you're having a good time with us, guys! Thanks for reading :)


	6. Precession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **precession** _(astronomy)_ the apparent shift of the celestial poles caused by a gradual wobble of the Earth's axis.

**06: Precession**

It was no secret that the Empire’s investment in Ord Mantell was for its position along hyperspace trading routes. It connected, among others, Chandrila, Coruscant, Abregado-Rae, and (less legally) Jedha. It was also interesting for its wealth of scavengable Clone Wars tech. The central Imperial deepdock had been built on the bones of an Old Republic complex, that had become a Separatist cache, that had become a Black Sun base. The leftover materiel and operating structures lay in strata, just waiting for an archaeologist to unearth and tag; even when others already had, before.

The deepdock had been renovated to resemble Coruscant. Or possibly—though she’d never actually been on one—a Star Destroyer. Gabrael walked her through the white, blocky, skincrawlingly Imperial-asserting halls. If they got any stares, Gabrael’s stance and look back shut down most of them without ever flashing ID. She couldn’t decide where to classify this information in the mapping of his person— nor if she was happy about it. _On which side does the balance hang now?_

Gabrael brought her at last to a door with a code panel. He punched in a sequence—not hiding it from her. Jyn memorized it without a sound. The portal slid open. He stepped aside with a polite gesture for her to go first.

Military quarters were almost as uniform as prison cells. These were not unsizeable, fully equipped with a private ’fresher and data terminal. But they were so impersonalized they didn’t look inhabited. She wondered with a delirious mind if this was going to be yet another cell, just with an added sense of mocking comfort. Had she been promoted to top-tier prison whore? How would he have arranged such a thing? _How important are you, really?_

Gabrael entered behind her, closed the door, and went to the bedside stand. Opening the drawer revealed some (inhabiting, though also disconcertingly impersonal) items within. No childhood relics, off-world souvenirs, or holos of a winsome lover or dutiful spouse. Instead: a datapad, several datacards and a -cube, a few isolated scandocs, a backup ID transponder, and… weapons: two varieties of vibroblade, a miniblaster with ankle holster, and the modified blaster he’d stripped off the body in the _Lady Fate._ Jyn marked all of it.

He took off his coat, again revealing the shoulder holster, and removed his own (officially issued) blaster from it, to add to the drawer. Some scratches on the surface of the stand suggested that he usually kept it _there,_ for easy grabbing out of sleep. But he was pointedly stowing it away, now. He picked his coat back up and opened a panel on the far wall to hang it up, besides (again, too few) other clothing items stowed at perfect regulation angles. _Control freak_.

(She spotted the dark clothes _she’d_ lent him, also folded, apart from the rest.)

So these _were_ his quarters. Too sparse, telling nothing about him as a person. Which was… possibly alarming. _Everybody_ left _hints_ of themselves.

 _Do you?_ her brain asked. (No, that’s my point.)

“What is this?” Jyn finally said, bracing herself for whatever answer he would give her—truth or not.

Gabrael turned to face her, leaning one shoulder against the wall and crossing his arms. The opposite of his body language in the halls: this was non-threatening, even submissive. (Which, if either, was _real?)_ “I couldn’t get the charges nulled, but I could get you released into my custody. You will probably be cleared. Meantime, you’re stuck with me. You’re not to go back to the Parallel or go out on your own. Though I can accompany you for one trip to get your belongings. We can do that today, if you want. …I’m sorry. I hoped it would be better than a cell.”

Jyn stayed perfectly, perfectly still. She eyed the man like a line of code to slice, but no matter the angle of attack, she didn’t have the right encryption. It frustrated her to no end.

“Why are you doing this?” was the question she chose to ask first.

It seemed to be one, stupidly, he hadn’t preplanned an answer for. At least, it took him a moment. “You saved my life. I think you might be able to help me with my work. And I have questions I want answers to—and don’t want anyone else asking.” He straightened a little but his arms stayed folded; like a promise not to strike out nor grab a weapon. _Would he,_ if she tried to escape his watch? He’d left the weapons closer to her reach, like a silent safety net on her behalf _._ She didn’t like the false security of it; she didn’t like his face and voice still chillingly unreadable when he said: “We need to talk.”

Jyn pressed her lips into a hard line, gauging his body language more than his words. She reconsidered the shitty prison cell; maybe not too late to go back. Staying here—with him—seemed far more dangerous. He wanted answers, he wanted to _talk,_ but they both knew the status-quo wouldn’t hold up once the lies would start crumbling apart.

Jyn stroked the irritated skin of her wrist with the opposite hand, trying to get rid of that haunted reminiscence. “Do we need to talk about the fact you’re military?” she mouthed, ever-attentive.

“I’m a contractor,” he repeated, from… however long ago that was. “The Mantellians hired me to rout out a leak in their ranks without involving the Empire. We all work alongside the Empire. But we _aren’t them_.”

He noticed her hand on her wrist. Gabrael crossed to another wall panel and pulled out a recently picked-over medpac. (Of course: _his_ external injuries had all-but vanished.) He must also have noted her reading his stance, because he pulled the chair from behind the data terminal and sat down before holding the medpac out to her. He nodded for her to sit on the bed. “And, yeah. I was a Separatist once.”

 _That_ surprised her. Not the information; the acknowledgment of it. Jyn decided to sit, as she wouldn’t likely walk out of this any time soon. She grabbed the medpac and held it on her lap, too focused on his expression to look for any kind of derma-gel. “So you stopped being one?”

“That war ended,” he said. (The second noticeable time he’d responded without answering.) “You, now. Turns out, _Nova Sande_ only exists on Ord Mantell from one month ago. Before that, the identity didn’t seem to exist anywhere. Until I found it belonging to a twelve-year-old Human who died on Verisin.”

Jyn felt the brutal, painful slap of his words just as vividly as if he had punched her. She was on her feet before she could realize it, the medpac falling to the ground with a clear sound of broken flasks. She pushed past his shoulder without care, already making her way to the door. He could try to shoot her for all she cared; she would _not_ sit here and listen to this.

He didn’t shoot. He moved. Somehow, maybe just by longer legs, he got there first: putting himself between her and the door control panel. He didn’t try to restrain her. He didn’t touch her at all. Only raised his hands palm-outward to the level of his ribs. _(I surrender.)_ “Wait. Please. _Please.”_

Jyn didn’t pause and leaped forward, her shoulder pushing against his arm, trying to get access to the control panel. She could have sworn the anger caused her vision to blur for a second. “Move,” she growled. “Move or I swear I’m completing your collection of broken ribs!”

He let the blow drive him back against the wall, his shoulder-blade making the control panel _beep_. His hands finally came to play: one to her shoulder, the other to—not her bad wrist. Her forearm. He caught her defensively, firmly, but still so fucking _gently._ He said in a low, urgent voice: “Where will you go? Please. Wait. _Mi estrella._ Star. Please.”

Jyn blinked at him, stunned, the deep brown of his eyes fixed on her with a pleading expression. She had a million insults ready to be thrown at him; she wanted to slam a fist on his chest, to hurt him, to make him go away— so he would just _leave her the fuck alone_. And she would forget about everything. She would crawl back into her cave, lick her wounds and disappear into herself. She would forget about him, too. About the way he still held her when her knees started to bend and gravity pulled her to the ground, defeated. He sank with her, following, until they were on the floor and she in his arms. Jyn couldn’t find her breath anymore, which was odd, because she had a full room of oxygen available. Her lungs burned, but not as badly as her eyes. She stopped fighting him, then, too tired to even care. When her hands curled around his arms to keep him close, she didn’t fight _that_ either.

Maybe she wanted it. Maybe she wanted _him_.

He sat against the wall, holding her like she was wounded _(wasn’t she just)._ And he breathed out something that must have been: _“It’s stormy and we’re here… No more running, we’re already home.”_

Jyn let out an ugly sound of crying and locked her arms around his neck, sobbing over his shoulder like a pathetic mess. He held her to his chest and put his head beside hers. The smell of his skin pulled her even closer, as if she suddenly couldn’t bear any notion of personal space whatsoever. Jyn cradled the back of his head with one hand, whispering with a hoarse voice full of tears: “I’m sorry, I don’t want to hurt you… please don’t make me… we don’t have to do this… _please_.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, either,” he whispered back. “I’m not going to. Ever. I want to help you make sure no one else does, either. Can you trust me that far?”

“What if you can’t trust _me_?”

 _What the fuck are you doing?_ Too late, she couldn’t take it back now.

 _“Trust_ is a technical term,” he said. “Whatever you’re doing, you have your reasons. You say you don’t want to hurt me. I believe you.”

Jyn pulled back, just enough to be able to look at him. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been this vulnerable in front of someone else. Why was she so desperate to suddenly reach for another soul? Why him, why now? She had no reason to believe him, she had no reason to _trust_ him. She still knew _nothing_ about him.

“What’s your name?” she whispered, looking at his lips like she was scared she would miss the answer.

He stopped breathing. At last, he said with obvious difficulty: “Ask me again, sometime?”

A painful pressure burst in her chest, breaking the fragile spell. She forced her arms to relax, uncurling from their grip on him until she was simply seated on his lap. She nodded to herself, marking his words, and wiped away the remaining tears from her face. A frown creased her brow when she put too much pressure on her bruised skin. _Good_. Maybe physical pain would clear her fucking brain at last.

With careful gestures, she finally got up. The loss of his warmth frayed a damaged thread inside of her. She went back to sit on his bed, compliant, making sure that her voice stayed unemotional as she spoke. “You said you needed my help on something. What is it?”

He stayed on the floor. _You want to talk about that now?_ “This leak I have to catch. They’re Black Sun. With all the other groups at play… you saw what happened when I tried to deal with them, without backup and not enough local knowledge. But I can’t go deeper with the Mantellians. They’re” … _corrupt…_ “compromised, and I’m _not_ inviting the Empire to play. You have freedom of movement that I don’t. I know now just how good you are at avoiding the radar. I saw what else you can do when you saved my neck. You and I need to finish this conversation sometime… I need to know what you’re really doing here. Then, maybe I can offer you a job.”

Jyn listened without interrupting. This felt familiar— tactical, calculated, cold-headed. Anything was better than this unstable, critical pull between the two of them. She would go with it.

“I can help you get into wherever you need to go… with Black Sun, with the Burke’s Trailing cartels… I can plug you in and watch your back, but I won’t tell you what I’m doing here. And I’m not going to talk about her.”

He really shouldn’t settle for that. But what he said was an agreement. “What should I call you, now?”

“You’re still Gabrael, I’m still Nova,” Jyn deadpanned.

He had the decency to flinch at his pseudonym. At least he’d confirmed, unprotesting, that it _was_ one. He nodded. Then pulled himself easily to his feet and gestured around the room. “That data terminal is isolated from the rest of the dock, if you want to use it. ’Net access can still be flagged. If you come up against something you don’t have clearance for, I’d rather you ask me to get you in than slicing it yourself. No need to get unnecessary notice.” He would know or assume her slicing abilities now that he’d unraveled her alias.

“Maybe I’m just that good,” Jyn smirked with a slight sarcasm.

It was such a relieving tone. ‘Gabrael’ quirked back a grin. “ _I’m_ not. Let’s go for consistency, for now. Like I said: if you want to get your effects from the Parallel, we can go today. Tomorrow might be harder. What you see is all we get, in here, but I have a good sleeping pallet and the temperature stays steady. The most annoying thing might be that my sleep shift has been during the day. I’m sorry, again, you’re stuck here. But, at least to start, let’s not push our restrictions. We can get more creative after we fully know what we’re working with.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

She hardly had any alternative on the balance, but Jyn considered what she could accomplish with a ‘almost’ official at her arm. Better access, better cover, anchor point to dip her feet into certain circles she hadn’t been able to reach just yet… This could get her closer to White Snake— all while keeping herself out of prison and keeping those snarking patrols away from her.

So; for the sake of the mission _only_ , she grabbed his hand. “Deal.”


	7. Redshift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **redshift** _(astronomy)_ a phenomenon where electromagnetic radiation (such as light) from an object undergoes an increase in wavelength.

**07: Redshift**

As someone bumped into her shoulder for the billionth time, Jyn muttered a Rodian curse that got lost into the buzzing mercantile district ambiance. The Killairn's Bazaar, famous for its black market sales, was as busy as ever despite the Imperial presence on Ord Mantell. The same unscrupulous merchants lined the streets, among droid parts and food stands, weaponry and dyed fabrics, to discuss the pricing of spice—only to buyers that had been preemptively filtered.

They called it screening, and it was one of the most effective techniques to ensure that every single sentient pacing the underworld of Worlport leave a trace behind them. In a place like this one, anonymity was all but a mere concept. While she walked past a screaming Ithorian merchant trying to sell boxes of expired stimulants, Jyn readjusted the strap of her bag over her shoulder, staying alert of her surroundings in case someone would’ve tried to mark _them_.

Jyn had kept the supervised visit to the Parallel overly short, not wanting to attract any sort of attention on Asegga (nor on herself, more than necessary). She had stocked up on a few clothes and personal effects for her extended, unforeseen stay with Gabrael. Due to the nature of their, now, partnership, he had allowed her to retrieve her weapons—for which she was glad. Nothing like a combat blade in the curve of her back to make her feel better. And if, as she kept looking around like a hunted prey, someone decided to even the scores after the Lady Fate, she would be ready.

Him, too, most probably. He matched her rapid pace along the crowded, muddy street, his arm pressed to hers more so by obligation than necessity. Jyn would’ve been able to feel his presence from ten meters away regardless, but the shape of his body next to her merged in the back of her brain like a static baseline— _this is normality, we play as a team now._ Of sort.

Jyn had to squeeze herself between a group of Sullustans and a questionable individual offering connectic repairs, momentarily separated from Gabrael. He reappeared on her left side soon after, closing the distance that had opened between them without a word. Jyn felt like a Tooka on a leash. As her arm brushed against his side, a new jolt of electricity traveled through her nerves, uninvited. Her shoulders tensed, square, ready to absorb an imaginary menace.

Then someone bumped into her again, and she broke her resolve: “ _Baay shar’mink shafna!_ ”

“Hey! You just watch yourself!” snarled the object of her frustration.

“No, no—” Gabrael was suddenly at her shoulder, holding out an apologetic hand. “We don’t want any trouble. Sorry.” He gently impelled her to walk away.

Jyn bit on her tongue and moved along with him. He kept a hand on her back, right above the outline of her vibroblade, assertive and… _grounding_. She didn’t try to escape the touch; although she wondered if she had a choice in it. Would he still wince, at such a thought?

The crowds got more… geometric, as they reentered Imperial territory. Fewer gnarls, more lines. The deepdock was downright regimental. That it was still daylight was somehow strange. Time had stretched and stopped while she was in that cell. Gabrael let them back into his quarters for her to stow away her belongings, into her own separate storage space. “Are you hungry? The canteen’s… a canteen. Or we could go back out.” (Like they were a vacationing couple.)

“Isn’t it a problem for you to walk me around like this?” Jyn asked, draping a long blue scarf around her neck and shoulders. “I’d have anything that isn’t nutrimilk or ration bars.”

“It’s a temporary solution,” he said. “If that charge isn’t dropped within a few days, I’ll see about getting you your own clearance to move around.” A quick look. “By the way. _Did_ you do that? The Devaronian?”

Jyn gave it a quick-thinking, wondering just how incriminating her words could be. But realistically, the man had witnessed a triple murder at her hands; there was little use trying to salvage her records at this point. A paranoid voice in her brain, sounding like the ghost of Saw, respectfully disagreed.

“Let’s just say he might have tripped and fell on a blade,” Jyn said, “and it happened to be one of mine.”

He nodded—and just like that, he dropped it. “Food?”

“Food,” Jyn agreed. Gabrael gave a quick smile and led the way back out.

The deepdock’s immediate surroundings had (thank you, Empire) been stripped of any nonhuman-run businesses. But all you had to do was cross enough streets in any direction and there they were again. A few blocks toward Morro Spaceport and Gabrael was holding the door for her to a Bith-run café. The atmosphere was calm and quiet, with a lot of beings contentedly working on datapads or analog tablets, alone or in small groups. The music (‘live on Taungsdays!’) was gently melodic. It was a place to be comfortably, inconspicuously alone. Jyn got immediately why Gabrael liked it. It felt like an undisguised glimpse of the ‘real’ him.

Gabrael advised in her ear: “You might find the food a bit tasteless. Bith sense of smell is more powerful than ours. They have a self-serve counter of spices, for other species.”

An amused grin lingered on her face for a few seconds, as Jyn thought that no food deserved to be called tasteless by someone who had been fed synthetic proteinate rations most of her younger years. But if she’d let out such an innocent fact, there was no stopping from the deep layers of her past that came with it— just like any part of her. It made it hard to stand so close to someone, without being able to share the most unimportant details of her life.

_What’s your name?_

Jyn secured a small table that offered a reasonable line of sight on the main entrance, without being too exposed to anyone who might have looked that way. Without much surprise, they both chose to sit with their backs to the wall, next to each other on a wooden bench. They both covered their starts when one’s leg brushed the other’s. Gabrael covered so hard, he got up and offered to order for both of them. It gave Jyn another moment to look around and think.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been out with someone— _unpaid._ Arguably, she was paid for another type of service right now, but so was he. It might have made it a non zero sum game. Jyn surprised herself by not hating the idea of this moment. She relaxed her back against the wall, silently scanning the crowd of customers, without ever losing track of Gabrael’s presence across the room.

He returned with two bowls and sat back next to her. Jyn accepted the fuming dish with a word of gratitude, her stomach growling its eagerness after the past twelve hours of unintentional fasting. For a second, she all but forgot the radiating heat on her side while no one wondered why they chose to sit so close to each other when nothing forced them to. They didn’t speak. It felt… comfortable. No performances, no questions, no selective truths. It felt surprising when she looked down and saw she’d finished her meal. Gabrael ordered more to take with them, in case Jyn wanted it before they could be active again; left credits on the table, and then it was back to base.

Back to his—their?—quarters. Gabrael stowed the food in a private conservator and glanced at his wrist chronometer, running a hand over his eyes. “I’m sorry… I need some sleep. It really would be best if you stayed in here, for now.” With an astute glance that said he knew exactly how easily she _could_ go wandering on her own. Just _asking_ her, not to.

He took a quick turn in the ’fresher and reemerged barefoot in trousers and shirtsleeves. He knelt to pull a rolled-up sleeping pallet out from under the bed and spread it flat beside it. “In case you want to lie down, too.” —But, grabbing a pillow and blanket from yet another storage unit, he put _himself_ on the floor.

Jyn frowned, feeling as big of an inconvenience as could be for someone _forced_ to be here. “I’m not taking your bed,” she said. “Let’s switch.”

Already on his back, he exaggeratedly groaned. “You’re going to make me stand up again, to do that?”

The manipulative bastard… Jyn shot him a threatening look, then sighed. “Suit yourself,” she said— and dropped down next to him, making a point to be as annoying as could be in overstepping his personal space.

He breathed a laugh. “That’s cheating.” Though his arm was already snaking around her waist. Jyn welcomed the touch more eagerly than she would have liked. She found back that nice spot against his side, lightly tapping a finger on his chest. He grunted a little at the bruised place, but didn’t stop drawing her closer.

“Not my problem,” she said, unruly. “You’re the one staying on the floor when you have a perfectly good bed, right there.”

He huffed another laugh. “I guess it isn’t less compromising here than there…” He turned his face to brush his nose and lips against her forehead. “I like sleeping next to you,” he said softly. “But you sure this is a good idea? Not… confusing the issues?”

Jyn rolled her eyes hard enough for him to feel through his shoulder. “Yeah, ’cause we’re such perfectly adjusted individuals otherwise…” she scoffed. “Just get into the kriffin’ bed, I’m cold.” _And you’re the right kind of warm._

A third breath-laugh. He moved free of her, stood up, and (ridiculous, unnecessary, but possibly… sweet?) offered her his hand. Seeing that she was about to win this round, Jyn decided not to voice any of the sarcastic comments she had in stock, letting him pull her upright. A flicker of a smile, more eyes than mouth, showed his recognition of that. He kept hold of her hand as they both lay in the bed. Jyn kicked her boots off and tangled her feet in between his calves, letting him pull a cover around them both. The sheets smelled like him: strong, reassuring odor that coiled around her brain more than she was ready to admit. _Great, great idea, Erso._

There was no escape now; unsure if she would’ve taken it.

They folded together like they’d known each other a lifetime. It maybe made more sense this time than either of the last. They’d been through things together and, when they hadn’t _had_ to, _for_ one another. He’d gotten her freed. She’d saved him from horror. She’d held him when he screamed. He’d held her when she wept. Most beings in the universe had failed to prove themselves to her even _that_ far. Still maybe too low a bar to count for much? But…?

Even as they started to drift off, things were moving, not entirely on intent. Her leg twined with his, his arm at her side, her hand on his chest, their faces so close… something, slowly and softly, was nonetheless building. A spark of heat where his skin touched hers. A gentle pressure, deep in her stomach—

They pulled one another without warning, starting to move together, and lips nearly met.

He went very still beside her. Jyn froze in turn, heart furiously beating in her chest. For long moments, wide awake anew, everything stopped.

At last, very quiet, Gabrael said, “We really shouldn’t.”

Jyn stared at his lips for the longest time, suddenly hyper-aware of all the places their bodies laid intertwined, of all the space missing between them and the fact she could—so simply, if she chose to—brush her lips on him and know what he tasted like. Her snark was long gone. “I’m really aware,” she whispered back without breathing. ( _Was she?)_ Jyn waited, counting heartbeats, until his continuous silence became almost unbearable.

He pulled away to lay on his back. But his eyes flickered, and his hand flexed—oh so slightly—like it wanted to reach back for her. Jyn acted on impulse and hooked her fingers with his.

For someone with a career in industrial espionage, she hoped he was better at resisting other pressures. No sooner had she joined their hands, he turned again on his side to face her, pressing their joined hands between them, and looped his other arm again around her waist. Jyn slid her arm around him, mirroring his posture, and pressed herself along his lean body. She might have lost her fucking mind, but that constant, paralyzing buzzing in her brain finally came down a notch, emptying her thoughts. Making space for _other_ thoughts.

He wanted her. It was immediately… obvious. He didn’t try to hide it. He didn’t try to do anything for it, either. He touched his forehead to hers and matched their breathing. She could practically feel him mentally counting backward or reciting tech components or whatever he was doing to (successfully, after a moment) deescalate that reaction. And he didn’t move away nor let her go.

“Gotta keep things static,” he murmured, his breath ghosting her skin. “For both of us.”

Jyn parted her lips, every fiber of her being so strangely affected by his words— by his arms around her and the ridiculous distance (not) left between their faces— in a way she wasn’t used to. She had to resist the burning urge to hook a leg around his hip, to have him hard again and pressing against her, realizing with a bit of a shock that she wanted much more than just a sweet embrace. “Static isn’t my best move,” Jyn said.

He gave a strained, unhappy breath. His hand went to her cheek like he would kiss her.

He didn’t. He braced his face away again to breathe hard, get a grip… then he’d straightened himself out and, with the slightest pressure—a question, not a demand—was urging her head to the crook of his shoulder and neck. “Don’t want to risk it becoming… part of… a business arrangement.” His fingers tightened a little on hers. “You know?”

That argument was unbeatable. Jyn snaked her hand higher on his back—not in an attempt to make him cave to… whatever was going on here—but simply with a touch of comfort, mutual agreement. “I know,” she closed her eyes and nuzzled against his neck, relaxing her body against him. “How’s this. I won't fuck you if you don't tell me your real name. …I mean, really, you missed your chance the first night we met.”

At that… he actually relaxed. Enough—ironically—to sink and deepen their embrace. “Deal,” he whispered. And did finally kiss her, if only the crown of her head.

⁂

Ah, cities: no matter how much of one you think you’ve combed, there’s always _more_ dark corners for people who don’t want to be found. Not the poorest and homeless, of course. They formed a thin barrier between law enforcement attention and the real ‘dangers to society’. Why were _so many_ civilizations karking ass backwards? Cassian had to believe (to _hope)_ the Alliance could do better. For now, they were the only ones proved determined to really _try._

This was probably his last outing in a while that would be on his own. He hadn’t been eager to leave ‘Nova’ (though he wasn’t thinking of her by that name anymore) on her own. He didn’t believe for a moment she’d refrain from slicing or busting out just ’cause he’d asked nicely. He couldn’t blame her. Still best for both of them if they stuck together; but right now, he needed to send one more update to Draven—and to Kaytoo. He couldn't delay longer. He was positive that rumors from _The Lady Fate_ had made the full Trailing, and they wouldn’t need much exaggeration to raise the alarm back home. If the Alliance thought Cassian burned or dead…

He checked a few times to see if anyone was following him. Specifically, to see if _she_ was.

He got to Mannett Point without incident and sent his communiques. To Draven:

> _flyboy union lothal circuit rogue union minor / fulcrum to father / disregard chatter of legend’s pacification / situation handled / ebla oscillator proceeds / subburkers agreed / playing mother to poss. circuit airlock / recruited as bridge / designating spice tooka airlock rogue / going dark until further notice / hold circuit nova_

To Kay:

> _\- im really ok - dont come for me - im sorry - might be some time but talk more when i can -_

Both responses came about at once:

> _father to fulcrum / glad you’re intact / spice tooka airlock rogue confirmed / circuit nova on hold / be certain_

Next: a line of binary he could barely translate, followed by:

> _\- next time im coming -_

Cassian’s tight smile hurt. He considered belaying that. Or sending a follow-up to Draven to make sure Kay did _not_ put himself in the middle of this mess, just to be reassimilated by the Empire or slave circuited along the Trail. Finally, he decided to let it lie. _I’ll just have to make sure there’s not a ‘next time’._

—and with that, the trembling returned. He quickly scrubbed the log and powered down… then just stood there, gripping the dock’s edge, shaking like he was back in withdrawal. Though _that_ wasn’t the part of that night that kept replaying in his mind.

One thing for sure. He was never playing feking dejarik again.

The thought that helped him pull himself out—

_spice tooka airlock rogue_

He’d made it official, now.

He’d designated her a ‘bridge agent’. On function, he should have chosen ‘throwaway’. He couldn’t. She wasn’t.

He’d known her less than a pfassking week. He still didn’t know anything _real_ about her. The closest he’d come was the child on Verisin but that wasn’t enough to extrapolate. (Who didn’t have an innocent as a scar…?) Worse still, he didn’t know her ops, which he was positive she had. Despite all that, he was bending the mission to her. He’d _never_ put anyone before a mission, including himself…

_Whatever. It’s done. Now get back to her before she really blows the lid._

The shaking passed. Cassian rechecked he’d fulfilled his protocols and didn’t take his customary time to breathe the sea air. He headed straight back to the deepdock.

He wished he was more surprised to arrive and find ~~their~~ his quarters empty.

He allowed a moment of outrage anyway. _Blast it, you—_ (—her or himself?)

Pfassk. Fine. She’d just forfeited any remaining privacy. He went immediately through her things. He’d silently inventoried her belongings when she moved them, so now he could tell which clothes, docs, and weapons she’d taken. From that, he narrowed down her likeliest positions. He adjusted his own gear. He’d started keeping a sleeved vibroblade and the ankle-holstered microblaster on him again. He dressed down, pocketed both gov’t transponder and a civilian one, and headed back out.

In breaking her cover, he’d learned she’d only been on Ord Mantell for a few weeks. That was probably how he caught up with her. He’d had five times that, learning the city, as head start. _(What was that about hiring her for superior local knowledge…?_ Though that was just geography. One month in a brothel could absolutely get you more and more kinds of intel than a year in government.)

As he threaded through the crowds, he allowed a back part of his mind to rifle again through the items she’d brought to base. (She probably had more elsewhere.) The clothes and the weapons presented no surprises. The handful of identichips additionally confirmed _not a prostitute_ —which wasn’t surprising now, either. All had different homeworlds and occupations: scrapper from Jakku, spaceport tech from Adrathorpe, ritualist dancer from Jedha, barbershop aide from Ponemah. (Their first meeting… they _had_ told some truths… Not now.) All were planets along Burke’s Trailing, which spoke to possible purpose, and could come in handy.

All save one kept the name _Nova Sande._ The one that didn’t had the name _Liana Hallik._ He wasn’t going to fall into the trap of thinking of her as _Liana._ Certainly another pseudonym. Still, a fresh route for research.

Lastly, the pendant necklace. He couldn’t identify the crystal. Its Aurebesh inscription _(‘Trust in the Force’)_ was probably a clue. He couldn’t picture her as an adherent to the Jedi or Church of the Force or Guardians of the Whills… but he couldn’t presume to rule them out, either. It just… It was the only truly _personal_ item she’d risked bringing to the base, to his quarters, and was the only item completely incongruous with everything else.

 _Who are you what are you after what are you doing here why did you save me?_ Questions that couldn’t wait, yet he was waiting.

At least his other wits hadn’t been jettisoned by _‘her charms’._ (Her stubborn, sarcastic, irascible and incandescent charms.) He found her on his first try—then had the unpleasant experience to be greeted by a grumpy, borderline insulting: “Oh, for Force’s sake!” as she caught him by the arm and spun him around.

 _Wait_. Shouldn’t _he_ be the one to be mad? “I thought we said no wandering around,” Cassian rumbled.

“Not fucking now!” she pressed and pushed him towards a side alley. “I’ve got a tail.”

⁂

Jyn waited for him to leave, paced the room in circles, went through his personal belongings without finding anything _personal_ —the closest was a handful of unofficial, unencrypted datacards, but they were on things like planetary history and droid repair—and finally slipped outside of his quarters.

Jyn had considered, even only for a brief instant, telling him about her stash at the Breakwater district. She hadn’t found any solid reason to justify that risk, with so little information about his current affiliations and objectives (listed some more against it), and ultimately dropped the idea entirely. She trusted him, as an individual, but she couldn’t trust what Gabrael Willix might have represented. She couldn’t even think of him as ‘Gabrael’ anymore. Not when she was so close to kissing the real him just a few hours ago.

But that was then, and Jyn left it behind, locked inside a part of her brain she couldn’t access while Nova Sande disappeared into Worlport’s disorganized, sandy streets—heading to the broken lighthouse under a soft drizzle. She didn’t linger long on-site; only comm’ed Citadel with an overly brief update on her situation, and scanned for any new leads.

Intel had it that White Snake would establish contact with Fulcrum during the upcoming Blockade Runners’ Derby gala. Shifters were still trying to slice through the information she had provided for a confirmed identification. She could really use something more specific than _‘_ _candlewick’_ and _‘bloodflower’_ —code names weren’t going to get her very far once on site. If anything, Jyn knew that they were likely to be extracted during the event. At least, that’s how she would’ve proceeded. Her window of action would be small and delicate, but she had a new asset on her game and she intended to use it.

She wiped the transponder clean once more and disconnected her signal. Before coming down, Jyn decided to retrieve her truncheon and blaster—as she feared her cover as a prostitute was already tumbling apart in the deeper circles of Ord Mantell’s underworld.

Her instincts were proving blasterproof when no later than two districts away from the central spaceport, Jyn picked up a tail on her.

The last rays of sun piercing through the clouded, polluted sky over the city came to die among grey shadows. Artificial light soon replaced the cold daylight with a menacing orange tint as Jyn looped around the same set of buildings, keeping her pace from running. She had two marks directly following in her footsteps, another one closing in on her left side, and surely a rearguard somewhere among the many walkways hovering above the ground floor. She hoped that one wasn’t a sniper.

They hadn’t tried to jump her yet, probably waiting for her to escape the larger area in order to corner her more easily. Jyn reflected on her chances to make it alive; would’ve been way better if she hadn’t been caught up in a fight two days earlier. Her ribs still hurt, her arms were sore and her face… well, her face wasn’t her problem right now. At least, she had a blaster this time. She turned the corner of the nearest street, breaking the pattern of her walk without warning, and started running north—in hope to lose the party among the spiraling neighborhood of the oldest portions of the city.

Not ten meters along, she came face to face with a dark pair of eyes she’d started to know all too well—and the displeased individual they belonged to.

“Oh, for Force’s sake!” Jyn growled. From _all_ the timing. He’d changed out of the dark overcoat he’d left her in. (Good: don’t make yourself a mark by dressing too moneyedly.) He now wore a weathered field jacket. But, _sorry, not-Gabrael, you’re never going to be inconspicuous to me again._ Jyn forcibly caught him by the arm and hurried him along.

He didn’t resist. He _did_ growl back: “I thought we said no wandering around.”

“Not fucking now! I’ve got a tail.” _We both do, now, genius._

He picked up her pace immediately, and Jyn ran down another flight of stairs, between two rounded buildings marking the entrance of a residential area, built to mimic the homeworld architecture of the first settlers from Corellia. “Two, 6 o’clock,” she breathed hastily, never releasing her grip on him although he certainly didn’t need her _help_ to move. “One, 2 o’clock. Lost the rearguard somewhere between Morro and Talion’s square. Possible—”

Jyn heard the sizzling bolt of air and pushed her body onto his, slamming them against the nearest wall. “Confirmed sniper!” she updated.

She glanced at Gabrael once more and got a shock. Without her noticing how or when, he had a blaster in his hand. Surely she’d already seen more facets and masks than most knew could exist; yet the look on his face… in his eyes…

“Lose, catch, or kill?” he asked flatly. Unreadable. Cold.

“Lose,” she said, reaching for her own blaster. “We can’t have a shooting here, there’s fucking people everywhere!”

“Didn’t stop _them.”_ But, again, he didn’t resist nor hesitate to follow her lead. He lowered the blaster, partially concealing it with his sleeve, and nodded for her to take point.

“I don’t know about you,” her tone suggested that she _did_ know, “but I can’t have any more ghosts following me around.”

If she couldn’t get rid of them in that labyrinth of habitations, she at least hoped to draw them away from civilians. No innocent had to die because of her actions. From the brief moment locked again with Gabrael’s eyes… _the same, too late;_ his ghosts waved to hers. But he, they, also _agreed._ Jyn eyed the distance between their position and the next possible cover, spared the swiftest of glance to her partner… and moved forward. “Let’s go! Two streets away from the traders’ district, I can make us disappear there.”

He matched her moves. She’d called him out for being military… just as well he hadn’t denied it; he demonstrated it at every corner, the way he turned, and covered her. He continually looked to her for cues but, if this lightheaded feeling could penetrate everything else, it wasn’t leader/follower. They were… just… synced. More perfectly than ever actually worked. _This makes no sense. You make no sense._

Jyn had no time to dwell on it. She led them through the streets, choosing the most unpopulated trail she could map while the night finally settled around them. A new layer of discomfort fell on top of her, her eyes trying to adjust to the rapidly decaying visibility. It made it harder for her to locate their pursuers, but she never lost track of Gabrael, feeling him right by her side like an extension of her environment. Then, she caught a movement on her right side and almost cracked her skull open trying to evade the blaster bolt.

“Okay, that’s not working!” Jyn gasped.

Gabrael had reflexively thrown out an arm to pull her clear, though her own reflexes had already done the job. His eyes darted all around them, now—gauging possible battlegrounds. “Over here,” he said, and started them toward a dead end. A terrible plan, maybe also the best one they had. They couldn’t escape, but their enemies couldn’t surround them, and no civilians would be caught in crossfire. Jyn reached for her truncheon and unfolded it with a hard _snap_ , ready to take a stand. Gabrael kicked and yanked waste receptacles and debris into places that might serve to trip up their opponents or give themselves some cover. Then, they were out of time.

Three silhouettes emerged from the abyss, of various heights and shapes. She thought at least one of them was Human, but she couldn’t have been certain (not that she cared, but she liked to narrow down the list of people trying to kill her). Jyn didn’t waste time in foreplay and opened fire, forcing them to break their charge. They split into two groups, still attempting to circle around. Before she knew it, Jyn was back to back with Gabrael, both trying to hit their marks in the near-complete darkness.

A burning bolt of energy grazed way too close to her face, a red impression on her retina momentarily blinding her. She stopped shooting and started hitting. The melee weapon was easier to maneuver in such a small space anyway. Jyn leaped toward a compact mass and ducked down, putting a hard assault on (what she hoped) were kneecaps. Her target lost balance, and she swung around to deliver the next blow to their face, hoping that would be enough to neutralize the threat.

Something nearby exploded. The shock left a small fire crackling in its wake. Someone—on purpose or by accident—had shot one of the receptacles which turned out to hold something flammable.

—On purpose. Or else Gabrael had the quickest recovery of anyone with retinas. Either his plan with the potshot had been to ignite something, or it was a happy side effect of the distraction. Regardless, he took advantage. While their adversaries were still blinking, Gabrael shot one in the leg. He leaped across to kick away their blaster where it fell and slammed the grip of his own on their head. As they toppled, he spun to lock his sights on the one still facing off with Jyn. She could’ve so simply shot them— if she hadn’t caught the reflective shine of a long-ranged rifle hovering above the scene.

It was a matter of snap decision; either to stop one from shooting her or to stop the sniper targeting her partner. The logical thing to do would’ve been to aim her blaster at the closest menace. For an inexplicable reason, Jyn decided to disregard the _logical_ inputs of her brain. Her instincts had her jumping on Gabrael, a hand slamming his chest to make him recoil. She felt an arm closing around her waist just as she shot the distant target. Almost simultaneously, in her peripheral vision, Gabrael shot the close one. Saving her right as she was saving him.

A frozen moment, checking for sight or sound of anyone left. Only their ragged breathing into the dead of the night.

Gabrael’s arm tightened around her waist. “You okay?” he gasped.

Jyn holstered her blaster, heart slamming hard against her ribs, and looked up to meet his eyes— focused, sharp, warm, _beautiful_ eyes. She should’ve tried to push some words out, made sure they were effectively okay, silenced that irrational fear to see him getting killed… to be left without him. _Don’t leave me alone. Please, don't leave me._

Jyn only placed a trembling hand behind his neck and pulled him down to her, meeting his lips urgently, all the agitation of that battle still pulsing in her veins like a hurricane. He had an instant’s surprise, then seized her in his arms and was kissing her passionately back ( _holy shit!_ ).

Abruptly, he pulled away. He held up a warning hand to distance her as he pushed himself properly to his feet. “Weapons.” Even breathing hard, his words had dehumanized crispness. “Identichips. Scandocs. I’ll get the one on the roof.”

Jyn stood almost dazed as he turned away, scanning, then seizing an eave and starting to climb. A bitter feeling fell down upon her. _Yeah. Right._ She snorted to herself, almost too stupid to believe that this had been anything but a strategic mistake. Fastening her truncheon back to her belt, Jyn crouched down to empty the pockets of the closest body. She wasn’t surprised when she noticed a black geometrical tattoo on the dead Heptooinian’s noseless face. Starlag XIX. Prison gang, most probably.

She’d just stripped the remaining one when Gabrael dropped back to the ground. His blaster was holstered and he had one hand on a now-bulging pocket. “We should go,” he said… and reached for her hand.

Jyn pulled away from reach. “Let’s move,” she ordered, taking the lead to exit the area. He dropped his hand without question and, as before, unhesitatingly followed her. The chaos they left behind started to attract some crowds as they slipped away just in time to disappear in an adjacent alley. Jyn didn’t look back, nor allowed herself to think about _anything_ in particular, and certainly not _that_ thing. She furiously marched ahead of him, determined to forget about this whole… situation.

By unspoken agreement—kindred tactical knowledge—they didn’t beeline for the deepdock. They traced a maze, overshooting and backtracking and twisting in all directions. No one stopped them. No one seemed to care they were there. They were finally on the small street where, mere hours and a lifetime ago, they’d shared a meal. For an instant, Gabrael’s hand brushed her shoulder. “Hey…”

Then, somehow, they’d turned a dark corner, and he had her against a wall and was kissing her ravenously. It took Jyn not even a quarter second to drop all stubbornness. She locked her arms around his neck in an instant and kissed him back, burning the taste of his lips in her brain. His hands were on either side of her face, the hinges of her jaw, the tendons of her neck; down her back, her waist… and suddenly hiked her up, holding her under her thighs so their faces were the same height, and the rest of them… His lips left hers only to breathe, then duck back in and devour her, mouth to throat. Jyn trembled, her skin sizzling hot where he kissed her. She grabbed his hair in one hand, forcing his lips back to hers and opened her mouth, breathing against him.

An undignified sound of neediness rasped in her throat, just as their tongues met for the first time. It drew one out of him, too. His reaction rippled inside of her like burning embers. One of his palms slapped to the wall to hold them up. His other still supported her, enough because the rest of him braced and pressed her up, too. Jyn moaned into his mouth, her arms circling his shoulders for support, half-expecting them to fall to the ground somehow—because, surely, the gravity hadn’t always been _that_ strong. She couldn’t feel a single thing that wasn’t him, her senses critically impaired beyond an immediate burst of arousal under his touch. Her every breath, arch, grip, seemed to heighten in him; and he pulled her somehow closer and began to _move_. Jyn audibly gasped. So many obstacles—their clothes, their weapons, the objects they’d stripped off their enemies… fucking hell… something something control, low profile, ‘we shouldn’t…’ did they give a—?

Jyn nipped at his bottom lip with her teeth, feeling the muscles of his shoulders flex under her palms. The reality of their situation still didn’t seem to catch up with her brain. All she wanted was to feel more of him against her, strong and hard body, more specifically _inside_ her. The thought made her ache for it, tight and empty, unaware that she was even capable to want someone so badly… and someone she didn't _have_ to fuck.

Every time he rolled and dragged between her legs, she kissed him harder, trying to silence the obscene sounds willing to escape her. That backfired. He pressed to her deeper, grinding together not just for himself but seeming to be searching for the exact angle and place that might—

 _Holy fucking Force_ ; if she had a name to moan right now, she would’ve never shut up.

_—I won’t until I know your real name—_

“Wait,” Jyn managed to gasp, barely remembering how to use her voice.

_—I won’t trust ‘yes’ if you can’t say ‘no’—_

He instantly stopped. Still holding her, chest heaving; not pushing; waiting. She battled to catch her own breath, all flushed and overworked. Jyn pressed a hand on the side of his face, trying to get it together just long enough to ignore that desperate craving.

“We should… go back,” she whispered.

Barely a breath to process. Then he nodded inside her palm. He set her gently on her feet, backing away—only enough, while keeping his arms loosely around her. Agreeing without begrudging. He _could_ take a ‘no’. In a better universe, she shouldn’t have to be, but here they were, so she was relieved for it. Jyn pushed her heels off the ground to reach him, just once more, leaving another kiss on his lips. He met it fully and deeply. When she moved away, he took deep breath and straightened himself, hands leaving her sides to check that nothing had fallen out of his pockets. He looked at her with an expression that… had uncertainty, even nervousness, but something surer and _deeper_ now, too. Again, he offered his hand.

Jyn took it without hesitation, wound their fingers together, and led them away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> phonetic alphabet/abbreviations  
>  _circuit airlock_ = CA = counteragent  
>  _bridge_ = bridge agent  
>  _ebla oscillator_ = EO = exfiltration operation
> 
> intelligence slang  
>  _exfiltration operation_ \- a clandestine rescue operation designed to bring a defector, refugee or an operative and his/her family out of harm’s way  
>  _mother_ \- case officer  
>  _bridge agent_ \- an agent who acts as a courier from a case officer to an agent in a denied area  
>  _legend_ \- a spy’s claimed background or biography, usually supported by documents and memorized details  
>  _throwaway_ \- an agent considered expendable


	8. Barycenter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **barycenter** _(astronomy)_ the center of mass of two or more bodies that orbit one another and is the point about which the bodies orbit.

**08: Barycenter**

Cassian lay on his back with one arm around ~~(‘Nova’, ‘Liana’)~~ Her. Their fingers idly tangled where their hands met on his chest. They were back at the deepdock and hadn’t talked about the alley. In these quarters, as agreed, they’d share comfort and nothing more. _Nothing **less**._ They folded together in the bed so easily, like nothing had happened—or like so _much_ had happened, they’d skipped lifetimes ahead to it feeling _normal._ Like the rest of his life—the _lack_ of this—was what had been strained. Like this was restoration rather than revelation.

(It was more and less scary than _outside.)_

But they couldn’t succumb yet. They could choose to not talk about the alley. There were other things to discuss that weren’t just between themselves. “Will you tell me where you went?” he asked. Not _where did you go?_ but _will you tell me?_

“Breakwater district,” she said, surprisingly straightforward. “I have a stash there.”

Oh. Wow. Good. “Do you want to bring it here? Or is it better to keep it clear of…?” A small gesture of his fingers between hers, indicating _deepdock, Empire, everything._

“I can’t risk it falling in the wrong hands… It’s secure where it is.”

“Okay.” A lot of him wanted to take that and be done. Unhappily, he had to go on. “Do you know why they followed you?”

The objects they’d confiscated from their attackers tallied basic clearance scandocs, idents that were laughably false (the literally most overused names for each of their species); worn and repaired but otherwise unmodified blasters, two vibroblades, and a length of monofilament. It wasn’t much. They hadn’t expected more. For now, they put those in their own storage compartment, just in case.

Nova shrugged her response. “Same prison gang as the Devaronian I killed. I think it’s a simple case of vendetta… unless someone put a price on my head. Wouldn’t be so surprising after… you know.”

“I don’t think they will,” said Cassian. “The others… What that group did would have been bad for everyone. You saved them a headache.”

She played with his fingers, her breathing so slow he barely felt it. “Not because I helped you,” she finally said. “Because prostitutes don’t fight like that and you know it… My cover is burned and all the criminals I know agree on one thing: the rats must die.”

 _There are criminals in uniforms and suits. Who’s to say who’s the rat?_ He still nodded and said, “We’ll keep our eyes open.”

How easily _we_ and _our_ fell from his lips. _Who **are** you?_ He’d succeeded his whole life in being alone. Why now? _Who are **you**?_

_Is it better to be alone together than apart? Is it better to take the good moment **because** it won’t last? Is this why we fight?_

_ As long as you’re not surprised when it has a bad end. As long as you’re resigned she might be using you right now. As long as you don’t compromise everything. As long as you don’t make her your mission. _

It was just hard to remember _which_ instinct he had to fight. The one that wanted to trust or the one that couldn’t.

“Can you tell me something about yourself?” he asked softly. “Doesn’t have to be intel. Just… something.”

She turned her head to look at him, trying to read something into his eyes, it seemed. Her hand moved to his face to brush his hair away with a soft touch, then she said: “I’m nineteen… I lost my parents when I was eight. I don't think… I've let anyone see me crying since then, except for you…”

 _Force._ Someone who’d had dark circles under his eyes since childhood and premature age lines since puberty shouldn’t be surprised she could be so young and look so much older. (Force, her ancient eyes.) That, awfully, got him worse than being orphaned and nobody ever seeing her cry. Horrifically, those… already made sense.

“Pfassk,” he said softly. “I’m way too old for you.”

She laughed at that, low in her chest, and whispered: “Oh yeah, how old are you? A hundred years?”

He had to do the math. “Twenty-four.”

“You’re right: a relic.”

Breathe-laugh and hand tighten. He didn’t want to datamine. He also wanted to hear more. He wanted her to be _able_ to say more. “Tell me about your parents?”

She tensed a little; unsure if it was from the question or the memory of them. “They were good people… just trying to live their lives. But I guess no one can ‘just live their lives’ under the Empire… I’ve seen my mother die that day. I can barely remember their faces now… I’m afraid I will forget completely someday.”

How or whether to say things he’d learned not to think… Finally, only: “I think I get it.”

“Everyone has lost someone, right?” Not a question.

Everybody had. That didn’t invalidate anyone else. “Why we fight,” he murmured.

“What do _you_ fight here?”

“…That’s intel.”

She kept quiet for a while, without pulling away. “I have a feeling… that you and I are not going to end on the same side and it’s going to hurt like hell… but I can’t ignore you and it makes me mad.”

Did it make it better or worse that he agreed? “Me, too.”

She nodded; nothing else to be added on the subject. She returned her fingers to his hand, mindlessly tracing the lines over his palm. Then, without warning: “I need to get into the viewing gala for the Blockade Runners’ Derby, at the local governor’s estate. Can you give me access to it?”

“Uh… yes.” Eoghan had even suggested he go. “As my guest okay?”

“If you don’t mind the gossip,” she snorted. “I’m pretty… well known in those circles.”

“I said I’d like to be seen with you. I meant it.”

“Alright.” She draped her body over him, lips on neck. “No more of this. Just you and me, for a while.”

He flexed at the touch of her, leaning gently in. “Best idea I’ve heard.”

Cassian felt her smile without seeing it, then her teeth on his skin like a warning. He jolted pleasantly. “Don’t be condescending,” she smirked, “or I won’t be nice.”

Whole neck thrumming to the feel of her, he managed, “That was sincere. I guess I’m clearer when I’m—” _pretending._

“Maybe I’m just not used to people being sincere,” she said, low and gentle. “I’ve never— I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel being… being with someone that I’m not forced to be with…”

 _Jactnashassapfassk…_ He was a hypocrite, asking her to speak then repeatedly unable to speak back. But all he lacked were words. Only the words. He turned onto his side, wrapped both arms around her, and _hugged_ her. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled into her hair. Not for something he’d done (if it ever couldn’t be) but for this being their universe. _I understand._

She hugged him back, not shying away from contact—something powerful, overwhelming, too complex to be analyzed. She whispered, “I’m glad it’s you.”

Cassian recognized his own words. He repeated them, back. _Whoever we are._

⁂

While they walked through the narrow street, Jyn made sure to keep her scarf in place, covering her hair and part of her face. A strong and hot wind carried abrasive particles of sand from the northern sectors, and blew the fumes of the Scraplands towards the little clusters of habitations still standing at the edge of Worlport. Even from the distance, she could already smell the acrid odor of everlasting trash fires, engulfing the mining wastelands. Between those and the pollution blown down from the city and settling in the natural basin, visiting or working in the Scraplands themselves required a breath mask. The neighborhood they’d come to, just inside Worlport’s city limits, was south of the Scraplands and on higher ground, so breath masks weren’t required. Nonetheless, not the nicest place to live in, nor to visit.

“You didn’t mention what we’re doing here,” Jyn said, keeping an eye out for any sign of hostility. She didn’t think someone would hazard an attack in broad daylight, but she knew better than to dismiss the possibility.

Next to her, Gabrael carried two parcels under his arms. One, he’d brought from the deepdock. The other, he’d acquired when they’d stopped at an outdoor market. Jyn had broken off to do her own shopping, restocking her supply of illicit blue powder, and hadn’t seen what he’d bought. She hadn’t objected to the errand; it was part of their deal—to keep him alive and watch his back. (And, probably—she thought without too much resentment—for him to make sure she didn’t ‘wander off’ again.) She carried her blaster and truncheon with her, alongside two additional blades; although none of her arsenal was obvious to an external observer. Gabrael, too, seemed perfectly inoffensive in his long blue tailored coat. But she had seen him dressing (and arming) up before they went out.

She had seen him because they _slept_ together _again_ … after they _kissed_. Somehow. And the harder she tried to shut off her brain, the louder it buzzed under her skull. Now, here, in the light— she wasn’t sure anymore if everything had been real or if she had hallucinated it. The burning memory of his lips on her suggested she had _not._

At the moment, Gabrael seemed focused on navigating. “Repaying a debt,” he explained. “Hopefully, getting one last lead.” —infuriating, brief, appropriate for the open air.

She followed him without any more comment, peering along the lines of low, enclosed buildings to make sure they weren’t walking into a deadly situation. She'd been starting to feel… imbalance, in their arrangement; several times, now, he'd been caught in trouble aimed at her and helped them both out. Though there was a big element of chance, nonetheless, she felt she hadn't been holding up her end of the bargain.

As if sensing her thoughts, he murmured to her, "This never goes so smoothly. Coming to this area. People are treating me really differently, as part of a couple, than when I come here myself. Usually I've given at least one bribe and had to shake three different tails, by now."

She would have laughed dismissively—but she knew the phenomenon well, too. She still put a little humour into her voice murmuring back, "Then you're welcome."

They were far past the market now. A violent blow of air brought more sand in their direction. Jyn put a hand in front of her eyes, blinking away some tears of irritation, and almost bumped into his shoulder. “Sorry,” she groaned.

“Almost there.” He shifted both parcels to one arm and put the other around her shoulders. “Keep your eyes closed, if you need. I’ll guide.”

Jyn grabbed the back of his coat but kept her eyes open, refusing to forfeit situational awareness. She _did_ let him guide her, pressed against his side with a familiar echo. A few more meters and they finally stepped behind the protective guard of a taller wall, cutting off the harsh wind. Jyn’s scarf fell from the top of her head, strands of hair escaping her low bun. She slipped off of Gabrael’s embrace, regretfully, as he stopped in front of a door. Jyn let her attention wander on the bright yellow pigments tracing (ornamental?) spiraling shapes on the dark wood while he knocked.

The door opened, revealing… no one, at eye level. Jyn looked down and met the eyes of a humanoid child with blue-tinted skin and hair. Their species seemed familiar but Jyn wasn’t sure she’d ever seen it before. If they were Human, Jyn would put them around six years old. Gabrael opened his mouth to speak.

 _“Nor!”_ An adult Delphidian appeared inside and seized the child’s shoulders. “You aren’t to open the door without one of us!”

“I saw it was him.” The child pointed to Gabrael and a doorside monitor.

The Delphidian sighed. “Okay. Next time, call Mama or me.”

“Okay,” said the child.

The Delphidian kissed the child then straightened to greet the Humans. “Neric,” she addressed Gabrael. Jyn wouldn’t so easily believe it to be his real name, more likely another one of his pseudonyms. ( _How many men are you?_ ) “Were we expecting you?”

“Not this moment,” said Gabrael with apology. “I brought Kariah’s payment.” He hefted the parcels.

The Delphidian nodded; cordial, even friendly. “Come in. And you are?”

Jyn offered a polite, reserved smile. “Nova. I could wait outside if you prefer, it’s fine by me.”

“Oh, no,” said the Delphidian at once, moving her hand near Jyn’s shoulder to usher her inside. “Of course not. Especially with the wind moving northeast. Make yourself at home, Nova. I’m ul’Auv. This is Nor.” She dropped one hand again on the child’s shoulder.

The child bobbed what might have been a curtsy. “Pronoun ‘she’.”

ul’Auv squeezed Nor in a tender half-hug and turned back to Jyn and Gabrael. “Please, sit. I’ll get Kariah. Shall I take those? Or do you need to open them for us?” She nodded to the parcels.

“I don’t need to,” Gabrael said. “Though I can tell you what’s what.”

“You’ll show us, then.” ul’Auv bent down to look Nor in the eye. “Watch our guests for me?”

“Yes, Avva,” said Nor. ul’Auv touched the tip of Nor’s nose, flashed a smile at Jyn and Gabrael, and vanished through a back door.

Nor regarded them seriously. “Are you Neric’s friend?” she asked Jyn.

“I’m his partner,” Jyn prudently answered— not knowing how broad of a definition she credited to the word. She decided not to think about it, nor about the look in Gabrael’s eyes as they flashed to her… a little startled, a lot… moved? Why should he be? Though it sent a definite shiver through her skin and brought back the memory of a dark alley in her rebellious mind. _Get a grip, woman._

“Who’s out there?” shouted a new also-juvenile-sounding voice.

“Mama’s trading friend!” Nor shouted back. “And his ‘partner’!”

From a third door, another child appeared. This one was younger than Nor (five, maybe?), and of another species Jyn wasn’t best familiar with. By description, she thought they might be Bluebreen.

“This is Thaeo,” said Nor, very businesslike. “Pronoun ‘e’.”

Jyn crouched down to level the smaller child and offered a hand. “Nice to meet you, Thaeo. I’m Nova.”

Thaeo shook Jyn’s hand like a tiny public official, then said mayorally, “Do you want to see my pick-up droid?”

Jyn's smile returned, more sincere than before. “For sure, I’d love to see it.”

Thaeo promptly turned and ran back through the same door.

Nor was examining the parcels. For a closer look—like it was the most natural thing in the world—she climbed into Gabrael’s lap. He rebalanced the parcels to give her space and looped a gentle arm around her. “You can open them for everyone when your parents say. Okay?”

“Okay.” Nor satisfied herself tracing the sealant lines on the bigger parcel; and, when she got tired of that, the hem of Gabrael’s sleeve. She checked inside it, too, making Jyn wonder what kind of gear he’d had on him on previous visits. Wrist holsters were not for ‘legitimate’ types, but she _had_ seen his ankle holster… and Gabrael was seeming less ‘legitimate’ all the time…

While she waited for a droid review, Jyn straightened on her feet and quietly scanned the room, marking the exits solely by habits. The one outer door, the two inner ones; one window the same wall as the front door and one perpendicular, both round, both very small. (Well, this wasn’t a place to get a nice clear breeze.) She untangled the long scarf from her neck, her cheeks slightly pink from the ambient heat. This place was well-kept; one of the parents must have been an artist because she spotted various containers of solid pigments lining up on a shelf. Jyn’s attention turned to a dejarik set displayed on a small table. It seemed to be a hand-carved creation, with some variants on the traditional figures. Her fingers curiously brushed the Houjix’s spiked tail.

A tingle went down the back of her neck. She looked up to see Gabrael staring at the pieces too, his face pale and taut. Jyn frowned, not wanting to ask anything in front of the child… (Nor didn’t seem to notice anything) but feeling like she was missing some vital information. She moved closer, placing herself behind him, and rested a hand on his shoulder, feigning to look at some colorful paintings on the wall. They might have been made using the same pigments on the shelf. One was abstract. One pictured an animal surrounded by flowers, some of which Jyn was sure were native to Mirial. The third was of Thaeo and Nor. They were all beautiful.

Gabrael spared one hand from keeping Nor and the parcels all balanced, to gently place back over Jyn’s.

“Here you go,” said Thaeo as e reentered, and pushed an object into Jyn’s hands. She closely examined the toy made of metal scraps, fashioned like the smaller droids deployed from P-100 units for salvaging. Its ingenuity and detailwork suggested it was made by the same artist as the dejarik set (and probably the paintings). It reminded Jyn of the homemade toys Galen had made for her, a lifetime ago.

“That’s an awesome droid,” she said, kneeling in front of the child again. “What’s its name?”

“Esso,” said Thaeo. “Neric’s idea.”

In the doorway, ul’Auv reappeared. Just behind her, an adult Mirialan had one arm around her. They both watched Jyn and Thaeo. It struck Jyn that’s _that_ why she hadn’t been able to pinpoint Nor’s species. She was Mirialan-Delphidian hybrid. A very cute one.

Thaeo was saying: “Avva says maybe I’ll learn to make a bigger one. Then it can really pick up things for me. Maybe even go to the Saplans—” _Scraplands?_ “—and find things for us to sell.”

“Dreams come pragmatic around here,” said ul’Auv, her warm gaze at her children no disguise for the grimness, the covered anger, in her words.

The Mirialan squeezed her shoulders then came fully into the room. “You have my payment?” she said to Gabrael. (So this was _Kariah,_ Jyn matched.)

“I told Nor she could open it,” said Gabrael.

“If it’s appropriate,” said Kariah.

“Of course.” He crooked Nor in his arm, to settle her all the way on the outside of his thigh, and shifted the bigger parcel toward her. “This one first, okay?”

Nor dug in immediately—or tried to. “I need Avva’s sculpture knife,” she complained.

“Here.” Gabrael dug his fingers in at one corner and started it for her. Nor was able to open the rest.

The parcel had other containers within it. Gabrael set Nor on her feet with the first in her hands, so she could bring it to the table. Her parents obligingly sat down. Gabrael passed out the rest to Thaeo and Nor in turns to bring to them.

None of it was what the Imperials in Worlport would have thought of as “payment”. Jyn recognized the value at once. One year’s filtration mask refills—to enter the Scraplands, or possibly just when the wind came from the north. Many months’ worth of nutrient cubes. Two tubes of bacta-gel and one box of -patches. A new water purifier. Some bolts of cloth, enough to make clothes and maybe have enough left for a child-sized blanket. ul’Auv and Kariah seemed startled. Whatever Gabrael owed them, this might be more.

Nor and Thaeo were dutifully grateful, but had clearly been hoping for something _less_ ‘pragmatic’, too. Which might be why the merest edge of Gabrael’s mouth curved in a smile when he held out the second parcel. “Open this one at the table, okay?”

Thaeo grabbed it, set it down, and Nor plopped down beside em so they could open it together. This packaging came off easily. Both children shrieked with delight at the sight of a fully intact, fresh and cleanly killed Mantellian Flutterplume. _So that’s what you got at the market while I stocked up on poison, what a team._ Jyn eyed him from the side, still sitting on her heels with a small droid toy in her lap.

“No paralytics,” Gabrael added, as ul’Auv and Kariah joined their children in its examination.

“This is… incredible,” said ul’Auv. Her eyes had positively lit up.

“Avva!” cried Nor. “It’s got all its feathers!”

“You can make art!” said Thaeo.

“And toys!”

“And jewelry!”

“And clothes!”

“There’s only one bird,” laughed ul’Auv.

“And Mama, you can cook like you used to!” said Nor.

“What does Putterflume taste like?” said Thaeo.

“Flutterplume,” Nor corrected. _“Sooooo good._ Especially how Mama makes it. You’ll see.”

Kariah stood, looking at her guests. She was harder to read than the rest of her family, but there was deep emotion there, too. “This is more meat than we’ve had in a _long_ time. We should eat it fresh. Will you two join us for dinner?”

Jyn didn’t feel comfortable answering that question without knowing what type of deal had been due between them. She looked at Gabrael, as to say: _your decision_. He looked back at her with the same searching expression. He relented his. “Thank you,” he said, “we’d love to.”

Kariah handed the bird to her children. “You and Avva pluck this for me, then I’ll cook it. Okay?”

 _“ **Okay**!”_ shouted both kids together. Thaeo grabbed the bird while Nor grabbed ul’Auv. They all tumbled through the back door.

Kariah turned again to Gabrael. “You shouldn’t have.”

“I should,” said Gabrael. “You did everything I asked, perfectly. And my bosses have credits to burn.”

That brought a small smile to Kariah’s face—with the same grim anger behind it that ul’Auv had shown. “Well, thank you. The talons and the beak will earn even more credits in the medicine trade. And I do look forward to seeing what Auva does with the feathers. You’ll come back and see.”

“Send me a holo,” said Gabrael.

“Give me your contact codes,” Kariah retorted.

Gabrael slightly smiled. Kariah returned it. Then she looked at Jyn.

“She knows my work,” said Gabrael.

Kariah looked wary. Jyn didn’t take it personally. That was life on Ord Mantell, perhaps especially out here. Kariah glanced over her shoulder at the sound of further shrieks and laughter through the door. “We’ll finish business after dinner.” Kariah held a courteous hand to Jyn. “I’ll put away Thae’s droid.”

Jyn restituted ‘Esso’ to the Mirialan and watched her walk away.

Left alone with Gabrael, Jyn took the opportunity to move next to him on the little couch, shoulder against shoulder. “Everything’s good?” she asked, carefully folding away her scarf.

“Yeah.” He leaned a little to her in return. “All good.” Possibly changing the subject, “ul’Auv was a popular artist and Kariah was a master chef in O. M. City, until the Occupation forced nonhumans out. Now ul’Auv’s a mechanic and Kariah’s a trader. They do a lot with what they get. It’s still… you know.” Oh yes, she did. “Nor might remember living in the city. I think they adopted Thaeo out here.”

“They have a nice family.” Jyn briefly thought back of another little girl who kept vague memories of living on Coruscant, before moving to Alpinn, and even farther—running as far away from the Empire’s reach as possible. Sadly, not everyone had that choice. At least, the four of them had each other… more than Jyn was able to say for herself. _I have no one left, it doesn’t matter where I run next._ And just as she told herself that ‘everyone always leaves, no point in fighting it’, a string painfully pulled at her bruised heart—stubbornly asking for more.

Her fingers brushed Gabrael’s hand. Had she done it on purpose? Had she moved her hand _this_ close? Had he? However it had happened, his thumb crooked to return the touch and moved gently over the back of her hand. He looked over at her with galaxy-swirling eyes, and his were… questioning? (Hoping?)…

Then Nor and Thaeo were tearing back into the room and, in turning to them, Gabrael’s hand moved away.

 _“ **FEATHERS!** ”_ Thaeo victoriously shouted, waving a long, bright, iridescent one high in the air. E bounded onto the couch right between Jyn and Gabrael and threw eir arms around each of their necks, in turn. “I’m going to dress up for dinner,” e declared, slipping back onto the floor. “Will you help?” to Gabrael.

“Uh…” his eyes flickered to Jyn’s again before giving Thaeo a smile. “Sure.”

“No girls,” Thaeo stated, before grabbing Gabrael’s hand and tugging him out of the room.

Nor, also with feather in hand, was regarding Jyn critically. “Can I braid your hair?” she said suddenly.

Taken aback by the question, Jyn had a slight response delay. Not the kind of activities she was used to. “Yeah, sure,” she finally said, reaching back to untie her bun. “Will you make me presentable?”

“What’s ‘presentable’?” Nor grabbed a comb from a drawer and climbed (more gracefully than Thaeo had) onto the sofa.

Jyn half-smiled, turning her back to the child. “Pretty.”

“You’re already pretty,” Nor said seriously. She started combing Jyn’s hair—from the bottom up, loosening tangles painlessly, just as Jyn had been trained professionally. “Avva doesn’t have hair,” Nor explained, as if Jyn hadn’t seen for herself. “So Mama taught me how to do Thaeo’s. Not that Avva doesn’t know, either. You can learn to do things for others that you don’t do for yourself.”

“You’re right,” Jyn said, “and that’s a good thing to learn.”

Nor made a sound of agreement, then focused in silence for a while. “Do you know any songs?” she asked with the same abruptness.

“If I sing, you can’t laugh, okay?” Jyn looked over her shoulder to see Nor solemnly nodding. She wasn’t about to sing a Separatist song to a six year-old. But… “ _My star keeps me company_ ,” Jyn started with a soft voice, remembering the melody sung to her, “ _and leads me through the night…_ ”

⁂

Thaeo’s wardrobe selection was small but creative. ul’Auv and Kariah were both ingenious at doing a lot with a little. Most of the clothes had been divided and recombined to have more variety and allow for growth with no additional material. Cassian’s role was to sit on the bed and bear witness. He knew Thaeo would be annoyed if Cassian just said ‘yes’ to everything, so he made sure to have opinions. This time was easy; he could advise based on the feather. Flutterplumage was in rainbows so it made Thaeo’s and Cassian’s mission to be picking items that didn’t match one another at all _. No color repeats!_

Finally satisfied, they reemerged, to see Nor putting the final touches on Nova’s hair. She’d done a simple braid rather beautifully and, as Cassian watched, Nor pulled the bright feather from her pocket and threaded it expertly through Nova’s braid.

“You keep that,” said Nor decisively. “It looks ‘presentable’.”

Cassian thought he would stare at Nova for hours.

Thaeo made a sound of revelation, grabbed Cassian’s hand, and pulled. Cassian knelt. Thaeo grabbed eir own feather, considered Cassian’s too-short hair, then put it carefully, with the top third peeking out, into Cassian’s breast pocket. “Now we’re _all_ ready!” Thaeo declared.

Dinner felt… so… _normal._ Just like sharing a bed and an embrace had felt normal. And _how?_ when neither Cassian nor presumably Nova had had a ‘family’ meal in years. (Ever? ‘ _I lost my parents when I was eight.’_ And him…) Cassian’s eyes kept going to Nova, and hers flickered back, like they were sharing a half-dared joke… or an hallucination. When he couldn’t take his eyes off her as she laughed with ul’Auv about the ins and outs of mechanic clientele. When he caught her staring as he spoke with Kariah in Mirialan. Most of all, every time Nor or Thaeo climbed into one of their laps. They couldn’t help getting lost in the picture of it—especially when Nor straightened Nova’s hair, and Thaeo hugged Cassian’s neck, and they talked again excitedly about the feathers.

_Is this what a ‘life’ is like?_

_Could we ever have one?_

_…with each other…?_

By the time dinner ended, Cassian felt almost as drained as if he’d been fighting. He wasn’t used to this kind of energy expenditure. —or emotional. (Of course, keeping up with small children was exhausting where lying entangled with Nova was restorative.) He offered to help clear the table but ul’Auv shushed him away, leaving Nova with the children, and Kariah free to take Cassian into another room.

Where the tone, sadly, became _Cassian’s_ kind of ‘normal’.

Stance stiffer, speaking under her voice, Kariah said, “I have a message for you. It’ll be the last I can carry.”

Cassian crisply nodded.

“White Snake appreciates your favor with the Burkers,” she said. “They’re ready to meet face-to-face. They’ll be at the governor’s Derby gala.”

…the same event Nova had _just_ asked him to get _her_ into. Cassian stored that link (and anything he might feel about it) for later examination. “How do we find each other?”

“They’ll be wearing a candlewick flower,” said Kariah. (Of course. Not just a signifier; an assertion. Alderaanian flowers were expensive to get on Ord Mantell.) “They sent you this to wear in return.” She went to a drawer, unlocked it, and pulled out a preservation cube holding a bloodflower.

Cassian’s shoulders tensed. Bloodflowers were popularly an Imperial ornament. “I might not be the only person wearing one.”

“This one is a rare shade,” said Kariah. “I believe they chose it for you _not_ to be conspicuous. There’s also a code phrase.”

Cassian, mouth set tightly, took the botanical cube. “Which is?”

“ _‘Burn our deeds from this world.’_ And the countersign: _‘If we do not fight.’_ ”

…Damn this fucking asshole. Sith damn them. All Cassian responded with was another quick nod. “Thank you. For everything you’ve done.”

Kariah’s expression was taut. “Do your work,” she said. “Make them pay.”

Cassian looked her in the eye. “All my life.”

⁂

That night, Auva and Riah tucked Nori and Thaeo into bed, then made love in their own. Riah waited until Auv was asleep. Then she grabbed one of their new breath masks and slipped outside. She walked to the hill that was the end of the residential district and looked out at the Scraplands.

And let herself, as she hadn’t in the company of Neric and Nova, and definitely not her own family, let out a muffled, self-hating scream.

For being a traitor. In two directions.

She believed in Neric’s cause. She had honored it, and her compact with him, until now. But she had to protect Nor and Thaeo at all costs. The picture the Shift agent had painted for her had threatened her children too specifically, with too many details, to ignore. And changed her already conflicted views on Neric’s Alliance.

Kariah just wished she hadn’t still treated Neric as a friend. Hadn’t lied to his, his partner’s, and ul’Auv’s faces. Even though it had saved Nor and Thaeo from the starvation they’d been facing just days ago.

Perhaps Neric was skilled enough that it wouldn’t matter. That she’d already also sold the same information to someone else.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sign and countersign are from this poem: [Making War Is Love](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Making_War_Is_Love). It pisses Cassian off ’cause it’s one more jab from White Snake about them metaphorically getting in bed with each other.
> 
> [Blockade Runners’ Derby](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Ord_Mantell/Legends#Entertainment_and_sports)


	9. Spectral Line

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **spectral line** _(astronomy)_ a dark or bright line in an otherwise uniform and continuous spectrum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ only imagined but described: CW: torture, CW: graphic injury, CW: rape, CW: suicide

**09: Spectral Line**

No matter how hard she tried, Jyn couldn’t shake that… heaviness… off of her. She felt tired after waving goodbye to Nor and Thaeo, stepping out of the shimmering world she had so strangely been part of for a few hours. The night seemed colder in comparison, _silent_. She found a sort of appeasement in it, too. Familiar territories, unemotional qualities… that had supported her way of life for so long, but appeared extremely compromising tonight.

Turning her head to look at Gabrael, she spoke before she could take back the words: “Wanna see something cool?”

“Yes,” he said immediately.

Jyn grabbed his hands, not exactly certain how this would be of any help against potential threats, and hurried them towards the Coral Coast. They had to stroll through the whole entire city to get there, which took a fair amount of time despite neither of them being slow walkers. By the time they finally reached the maritime area, already smelling the decaying seaweed from afar, they both had broken a light sweat. Gabrael hadn’t complained, nor asked for inputs—seemingly trusting her on the most bizarre of her impulses.

Jyn led them beyond the quays to find the shoreline. Littering the waterfront, debris washed up from millennia of industrial pollution were half-buried in the sand, waiting for scavengers to upcycle them on the black market. One of the first jobs Mantellian kids from the Breakwater district would learn growing up. Most of the real profits were made from scraps floating in deeper waters, attracting fisherfolks and pirates across the bay. Due to the presence of the Empire, such an ecosystem had been put in peril—but, as always, the parallel economy had found a way to adapt.

They now operated under the cover of the night, taking greater risks to retrieve wastes offshore. As a result, the single safety light of dozens of ships moved across the dark water, trying to stay clear of each other, and painted a swirling dance of warm dots amidst the black canvas. The spectacle had gained its own reputation in the underworld; to the point that some people used it as a flirtatious move. Popular slang among the working class, ‘unloading on docks’ had a very literal meaning attached to it. And although Jyn had never _unloaded on docks_ , she greatly enjoyed the view.

Gabrael stood silent beside her for so long, she started to worry he was annoyed at having been dragged around so trivially. But when he spoke, his voice was far opposite from annoyance. “It reminds me of fireflies on Charissia. My partner…”

He hesitated. Jyn tensed, and not only because of the coincidental ‘fireflies’. His _partner?_ What kind? Which tense?

“We found some orphans,” he said. “We wanted to get them out and back to their homeworld. But we had work to do and didn’t want to put them in danger. So I dropped him and the kids on Charissia while I finished the job. He was so nervous and worried. By the time I got back, they’d had a great time. The kids loved him and he was bragging he’d always known they would.”

Jyn religiously listened, captivated by the sudden depth of emotion in his voice. It seemed like a bittersweet memory to him, and she wondered—not without a sting of pain—if he had ever known an unconditional happiness in his life. With this partner of his, maybe. Far away from here.

“Were they able to go back to their home?” Jyn asked.

“Yeah. They got home. I think my partner still talks to them now and then.”

“I’m glad,” she softly commented. “They were lucky to have you.”

He… winced. _“ **They**_ were.”

“What do you mean?”

He gazed at the lights on the water. “Nevermind.” He looked back at her and his brow creased. “You okay?”

Jyn tried to read his expression, finding that she still missed the right encryption key. “Fine,” she offered, pushing aside any thoughts of Gabrael’s real life. Of his _partner_ (present tense) that most certainly knew his _real_ name and would’ve been capable of cracking the code.

_Too bad he’s stuck with you._

She forced some moisture back to her lips and walked in direction of the water, her boots sinking into the wet sand of the beach. She wasn’t sure he would follow, but Jyn didn’t feel like burying herself down the deepdock just yet.

Yes: he followed. His hand brushed her upper back. “Did I mention,” he sounded unusually tentative, “my partner is a droid?”

“Oh.” —was the full extent of her reaction, suddenly very self-conscious of herself. “That’s… interesting to know.” Thank gods, he couldn’t discern the color of her face right now. Not that droids and organics didn’t have all sorts of relationships, but the tone of explanation suggested it wasn't _that._ “He couldn’t come with you this time? Or is it too intel-ish to discuss?”

“I didn’t think he’d be safe.” His hand brushed her again and this time stayed there. (Relieved to have read her correctly.) “With all the hardware piracy.”

“Good point,” Jyn whispered. As the waves kept digging the sand under her feet, she turned her palm towards him and grabbed his fingers. He interwove them at once, and maybe did her heart start to beat a little faster. “I like to come here to think…”

He moved until she was fully against him, her back to his front, and his face touched beside hers, looking at the water. “I’ve never spent time near an ocean. I like the sound.”

“It’s peaceful,” Jyn agreed, leaning back, “even during storms. Just to know that no matter what we do, the sea just doesn’t care… and keeps rolling over and over again. I like the certainty of it.”

“You’ve lived by one?”

He was being too good at reading her, not that she was making it hard. She should’ve been careful of the answers she gave him, but this one probably couldn’t hurt much. “Yes, with my parents.”

His arm came around her with a slight squeeze. He remembered: _I lost them when…_ Jyn grabbed his arm in turn, moving her head to look at him while trying her hardest not to let certain thoughts sink in too deep. ( _I’d like the certainty of you._ ) What the hell was she even doing?

Whatever it was, he was doing it with her. Something had shifted, or they’d surrendered to riding the quake. “I lost my parents young, too. I was… raised, sort of, by… my mentor, I guess. She was Mirialan.”

Jyn placed a hand on the side of his face, feeling him leaning into her touch. “I’m sorry about your parents,” then added in a somewhat simple Mirialan: “ _That’s how you know… to speak it._ ”

He’d closed his eyes against her hand. At that, they opened, reflecting the lights. _“Exact,”_ he answered in the same language. _“How do you?”_

Jyn suddenly felt like she was standing on quicksands. She held onto him tightly. He tightened his embrace in return. “Don’t tell me anything you don’t want to,” he said, but the barrage had already crumbled in her mind.

“I’ve been trafficked… I was sixteen and I… The person that saved me— she’s Mirialan, too. She taught me some of it, but I’m not great at it. It’s all in the way you shape your tongue, apparently.” The confession ended on a self-indulgent smirk, maybe trying to balance the horror of what she had just confessed.

He didn’t follow her, this time, out from the darkness. He turned them to face each other. He searched her face. She knew that look… the look of someone able to read people, and might well be getting far more than she meant him to. …But then he didn’t ask further. “Tell her I said—” switching back to Mirialan: _“Thank you.”_ Carefully, like he wanted her to have all the chances to stop him or move away, he bent to kiss her.

Jyn closed her eyes and kissed him back with as much care as he put in it, suddenly relieved from all that heaviness she’d been carrying around. It didn’t feel so bad to tell the truth, for once. Not to him. She parted her lips, at last, looking for a breath apart, and whispered at the same time: “I’ll tell her.”

⁂

 _You know why you’re the Houjix?  
  
__they ripped off his belt and coat  
__slammed his face to the bar  
__pinned his wrists  
__kicked out his feet  
  
__you’re little and pathetic and get  
  
__they clamped restraints on his wrists and legs  
__what they shot into his external carotid made him feel  
__like the boring tool through his hand might be a relief  
  
__no  
__please Kay where are you  
  
__you’re tied down now  
__you have to listen  
__to what you did to me  
__you have to watch  
__what happens now  
__he looked straight at him as he took Cassian’s blaster and put it to his own head  
  
__**Cassian help me  
  
**__they whipped Cassian’s belt around Kaytoo’s chassis  
__they dragged and tethered Kay to the ground  
__Cassian’s ripped jacket tied his long hands  
__they put the boring tool to Kay’s cranial casement  
__Kay looked straight on they began to drill  
  
__**I saved you  
**_**_why aren’t you saving me?  
  
_**_Cassian was clamped to the motel chair interrogation table Lady Fate’s back-room bar  
__he thrashed and screamed murder and battled his shackles  
__they broke Kay with mallets  
__he dented and cracked and collapsed piece by piece  
__his oculars never left Cassian’s eyes  
  
__**I tried to help you  
**_**_this is what happened  
  
_**_it was Nova he couldn’t get to  
__tied with Cassian’s belt and coat  
__being beat and raped and knifed as she hollowly gazed  
__blood starting to run down beside her green eyes  
__she raised Cassian’s blaster to her own head  
  
__**this is what happens  
  
**_“They can’t hurt you,” her voice suddenly said. “I won’t let them.”  
  
_no! hurt me! don’t hurt her! hurt_ **me**!  
  
“No, you’re safe. Come back, please. Come back to me.”

He threw himself against what was tying him down. This time, it _worked._ He bolted upright and doubled over. For a wild moment, he stared without recognition at his unpierced, unshackled, unbloodied hands.

The slightest of touch brushed his arm. He vaulted from the bed, landing on his feet. His left hand shot forward to grab wrist or throat or whatever it could get. His right yanked back and locked, preparing to punch.

A pair of hands gripped his arm, trying to break free of his grip on a neck. A quick, brutal pull on his wrist pushed his hands down past shoulders, his thumbs unable to maintain pressure. An elbow was thrown against him, forcing him to fold his arm against a chest. “It’s me,” said a trembling voice. “Listen to me, I won’t hurt you. I promise.”

 _It’s ‘me’?_ Who would say that to him? He tried to focus down his arm like a rifle-sight. Even in the darkness, those eyes looked familiar to him; focused and alert… distressed… asking for _something,_ but what? His hand loosened—( _situation in question)_ Her face came into view, dark hair spilling over her shoulders. She moved her lips again, releasing some of the pressure around his arm but still holding his wrist.

“Come back to me.”

…

_My star watches over me and leads me through the night._

Clarity hit with a concussion. His hand flew open, releasing her, and recoiling.

Dropping his combat stance brought him to his knees. He put his hands to her knees and his face to her lap, gasping, _“I’msorryimsorryimsorry”_

She spread her fingers into his hair and breathed out a heavy sigh of relief, bending over, her body trembling. Her voice didn’t. “You’re okay, everything’s okay.”

He held onto her knees as the planet wildly spun. One of his hands moved to her waist so he could feel her breathe. He matched his breath to hers. _I’m sorry Stop Slow down Come back._ Her hand moved from the back of his head to his neck, to his shoulders, unsteady but comforting.

“Don’t stay on the floor,” she whispered, at last, “let me hold you.”

 _Skies…_ he wanted to obey that. If he stood, the planet would buck him off. In falling, what if he struck her?

_…Then she’ll block the blow. She’ll stop you. She told you._

He focused, forcing his breath to slow, and the planet with it. She was anchored. She let him hang on. His hand, at last, steadied against her ribs, and he followed it, pulling himself up to the bed, to her side. Her arms came up to circle him, slowly, one behind his neck, one around his waist. She invited him closer, until he was pressed against her chest, and felt her breathing on the side of his face.

“Did I do anything to you?” he whispered.

“It’s alright,” she said, “I can take you down. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Yes, she could. His perception of that fight had been drugged out but he’d bet on her against himself in unarmed combat. The thing was: he didn’t want her to _have_ to. Not ever. She was supposed to be safe at his side. In his arms. He pressed his face to the side of her neck and breathed in her pulse, every tendon flex, every swallow; trying to find his way back to humanity by the Force of hers.

“I’m sorry,” he managed again.

Her lips were on his face, then. “You said that already.” She lowered herself down on the mattress again, taking him with her. “I understand. I have those, too. You saw… I’m glad you’re with me.”

He moved his arms around her—and she _let_ _it_ even now—and held them impossibly closer; not tied down, not injured, … _please I want you to be safe._ He wanted to say more in return—tell her more than just _yes_ and _me too_ and a million more worthless _sorry_ s _—_ but couldn’t swear by his voice.

At least, at last, he got out: “Thank you.”

A leg hooked around his hip in response, joining her arms in folding around his body as much as humanly possible for her small frame. She felt… ferociously protective. He turned in to her, filling all corners between them and the bed.

He forced himself to replay the nightmare. He tried to determine what, if anything, he might have said aloud. None of it was new to him. None of it could give her much either. It revolved around things that… Hell, she’d been to one third of them. If he asked, she’d either tell him, proving it didn’t matter, or wouldn’t, in which case it was too late.

_This can’t continue_

_This won’t last_

_I’m sorry Let me hold you Come back to me_

_So live in it while it does._

He tightened his arms and abjectly kissed her cheek.

_Yes. I will. I'm yours. My star._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Charissia story from _Star Wars Adventures issue 3: Tales from Wild Space_ , "Adventures in Wookiee-Sitting" by Alan Tudyk & Shannon Eric Denton © & TM 2017 Lucasfilm Ltd.


	10. Nova

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **nova** _(astronomy)_ a star that flares up to several times its original brightness for some time before returning to its original state.

**10: Nova**

“Last time I had to dress like this,” Cassian grumbled to the ’fresher door, as he tried not to strangle himself with his formal collar, “the main people I had to impress were four and eight years old.”

A small laugh answered him, muffled by the partition. “You can try to impress me,” Nova said, “maybe I’ll sleep with you.”

“So _my_ charms are limited to an outfit? Thanks.” Pfassk, they _did_ know each other long enough to have an inside joke. When was that…? two weeks…?

“Don’t you know?” she continued on that same light-hearted tone. “I only kiss people with a good sense of fashion. Thank the Force you had that coat.”

“We all need different skins.” The only fixed mirror was in the ’fresher, which he’d given to Nova to change in, so Cassian set the data monitor to image himself. The sight of himself in formalwear seemed a really bad joke. At least one improvement over ‘last time’: he wasn’t in Imperial uniform.

The finishing touch. Cassian slid his hand under the desk and opened a hidden drawer he hadn’t told Nova about. There was the botanical cube holding the bloodflower. He regarded it stonily. Then he picked it up, closed the drawer, and stuck the unopened cube in his pocket. White Snake was asserting their stranglehold. Cassian would steal a little slack back. Fulcrum didn’t want to arrive immediately identifiable nor Willix signal more Imperial sympathy than he really had. The flower would go on after he’d reconned, not before.

“We do,” Nova said as she opened the door, wearing a floor-length purple gown made of a silky material, presenting an elegant slit that ran almost up to her hip. Extremely form-fitting, and extremely… distracting.

Cassian knew how not to stare. He did a little, now. _“Mesh’la.”_

She tilted her head and smiled, coming closer to smooth the shirt over his chest. “Still handsome,” she smirked.

His hand came up to press over hers. “It’s just a tool,” he muttered. “Nothing to do with me.”

She gave a click of the tongue, disapproving. “Everything to do with you.”

Floored, Cassian searched her face, started to smile, and ducked to kiss her. She cupped his face with both hands, sliding under his ears, and kissed back eagerly. She wore a different perfume, or maybe she _wore_ perfume over the smell of her skin, warm and breezy. His hands slipped around her and moved up her back, palms smoothing and savoring the soft fabric and even more slaking skin, up her planes and curves, pressing her in…

With great restraint and regret, he broke away. “We should get going.”

“We should go before I undo all your hard work,” she said. She took a step back and her thumb traced the shape of his mouth, as she likely tried to erase the evidence of that kiss. Against what he’d _just_ said, he kissed her hand. “Oh, this is gonna be a long, long night,” Nova whispered.

He hadn’t asked why she needed to go. Hopefully, she still thought _he_ was just going to favor her. It was sour, painful, having to think this way—dropping the game that they were really ‘partners’. He’d have to find the space to make his own rendezvous while keeping an eye on her.

Assuming, that is, he could take his eyes _off_ her.

Whatever she would do, at least he’d be on the ground. What _he_ had to do was what he’d been working toward for months. Get on with it.

Allowing a quick return to genuine warmth, he offered his arm. “Shall we?”

She curled around his arm, no personal space whatsoever left between them. “ _Lek, riduur._ ” _Yes, partner._ Or, depending on translation, _‘husband.’_

He looked down, lump in his throat, and belatedly saw _her_ finishing touch: the iridescent flutterplume feather wound into her braided hair. Yep. He’d never swallow or breathe again. He pressed one more soft kiss to her temple. _Okay._ Mental inventory. Bloodflower in pocket. Ankleholster loaded. Imperial transponder holding lullaby. Partner or adversary, on arm.

Definitely in for a night.

⁂

Slipping into the Government Circle had never been easier than with Gabrael vouching for her. Jyn handed Nova’s ID on two different security checking points and no one bat an eye at her. She didn’t even get searched—which, in retrospect made her bitter that she hadn’t tried to smuggle weapons with her—as if a dress and an escort had suddenly turned her into a respectable member of the Mantellian society. Csillag was to thank for the attire; the man at her arm for everything else.

Jyn strangled the culpability before it could get to her. This had to be done; this was her mission. But as impossible as it was for her to forget it, it would occur on a definite, isolate beat of the evening. She wasn’t there yet, she could pretend to be Nova just a bit longer… play this game with him just a bit longer. And he knew, he _knew_ , in the way he looked at her that their time was almost up.

_If I’m never going to have you, let me pretend that I always had you just for one night._

The Government House, at the heart of the Circle, was the pinnacle of Worlport’s Corellian classic-revival architecture. It was all over colonnades, arches, rotundas, spires. The Governor held the highest office of pre-Occupation infrastructure that Ord Mantell was allowed to retain. His biggest remaining duty, now, was hosting the yearly viewing gala for the Blockade Runners’ Derby. There would be Imps aplenty in attendance but it was not an Imperial function. (Governor-General Moff Vellam was not expected.) For the viewing, all satellites’ and asteroid monitors’ feeds from Ord Mantell’s surrounding comet cloud were routed directly into the House and projected onto the ceiling of the central rotunda. The dome became an immersive star chart. Competing ships appeared as sonar blips. For those who get in, it was the only way, without competing in it, to watch the Derby in real-time.

The Derby itself was a smugglers’ event. Everyone knew it. It just was never _officially_ confirmed. The Empire allowed it so they could monitor its players, yet it was still worth it to the smugglers as advertisement. Dealers could gauge the state of organizations, their tech, actual performance. It was also so heavily bet on, the gala probably saw the most concentrated wealth redistribution of any year.

The viewing had lasted all day. Night now falling, everyone (who didn’t have to immediately flee the system) relocated from the rotunda to the House proper for the gala. They drank, danced, vented, collected and paid up. Some started the groundwork for new or adjusted alliances and business plans, based on the competitors’ performances. Some started to draft bounties—for participants, and for viewing attendees who’d run off without paying.

It was quintessential Ord Mantell. Opposing sides of struggle simultaneously fighting and feeding each other.

And stepping right in the middle, the Separatist spy tasked to eliminate the most pressing menace against the Burke’s Trailing—against millions of innocent lives at risk to starve under the Empire’s iron fist the second Black Sun would forfeit their monopoly. For it took criminals to fight against other criminals, and violence couldn’t be fought without violence. Not anymore. Jyn replaced the blue pearls around her wrist and marched on.

“Do you want a drink?” she asked, still holding Gabrael’s arm.

Gabrael was looking across the room. Jyn followed his gaze to a pair of men in Mantellian government attire. “You go ahead,” he said apologetically. “There’s someone I should talk to.” In one movement, he turned toward her, keeping hold of her hand, using it to unwind her arm from his, and bringing it up to kiss. “I’ll catch up?”

“Sure.” Her fingers brushed his cheek and she walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

She took her time to scout the configuration of the hall, confirming the entrances and exits, marking the accessible balconies, the numerous dark alcoves and blindsides, the possible extraction points. She knew the meeting wouldn’t take place in front of everyone else, her mark was too paranoid for that. The security in place wasn’t so outstanding that it was impossible to wander off the main area— which gave her a far too wide field to cover. She needed to narrow it down rather quickly.

Jyn stopped across one of the catering tables, grabbing a green-looking drink to give some fake consistency to her posture. She dipped her lips into it without drinking, her eyes scanning the area as her brain kept cataloging the faces around her. Either by instincts or impulses, she turned back and found the tall silhouette of Gabrael talking to a Mantellian that she now recognized as his ‘friend’ from the Parallel. Jyn had never followed up on that conversation she had meant to have with Csillag about him. She figured it didn’t matter anymore. She wouldn’t be playing Nova Sande the prostitute for much longer, now.

“I thought it was you,” someone said, entirely too close to her. “You almost had me fooled, all dressed up like this.”

Jyn stayed perfectly unaffected just as she looked at the man in a spotless black officer uniform she had already recognized the voice of. That was… a potential complication.

“How did you even manage to get in here?” the Imperial lieutenant continued, a cold smile on his face. “I knew this event didn’t have the best attendance… but we’re really scratching the end of the barrel here.”

While she was busy running an infinite amount of trajectories in her head, Lt. Dunstig Pterro stepped even closer, slightly bending on her shoulder. “You disappeared from your dump,” he smiled, ever so predatory, “where have you been?”

“Taking some downtime,” Jyn smiled back, equally fake. “Did you miss me, Lieutenant?”

The man looked at her up and down, not even trying to be subtle about it. For once, Jyn hated the way he stared at her cleavage. She didn’t have any reason to let him close to her anymore. He was one of her most horrendous clients, always trying to bring some pain out of her, always seeking the thrill of dominance— and she hated him almost as much as any other abusers in her life.

When he placed a hand on her lower back, Jyn had to stop herself from breaking his arm. His laugh hit her face like an insult, followed by an actual one. “Only missed your legs, sweetheart.”

“I’m sure someone else can help you with that.” Jyn let her smile translate the full extent of her repulsion, and made a move to escape his reach. Surprisingly swift, the man shot his hand up and grabbed the back of her neck, pinning her in place with a painful pressure. The drink almost escaped her as her next breath stayed caged in her throat. Could she get away with smashing a glass into an Imperial’s head? Even more tempting to try as panic crept in the back of her mind.

Jyn only said: “Get your hand off me.”

“Why don’t we take a walk in private, you and I?”

With a start, the hand was gone from her neck. Jyn spun to see the astonished lieutenant’s arm suddenly pinned behind his back. Gabrael had materialized, forcibly hooked elbows with him, broke his grip and yanked him down.

Just as fast, Gabrael released him and stepped to Jyn’s side. “Pardon me,” he said. “Thought you were dancing. Couldn’t resist cutting in.”

She wished she would’ve been surprised to see him putting himself between her and a threat, but she wasn’t. Not just because her public identity couldn't justify such action and his could. She wasn’t because she _knew_ him, however impossible it seemed to know someone so quickly. _Someone I don’t know the name of._ But once again, Gabrael stood beside her, and if she had a little common sense left she wouldn’t have taken his arm. And yet, here she was, holding onto him like the only certainty of her life— like the only person she could ever trust.

Pterro didn’t miss any of her reaction. He seemed to regain some confidence, greatly helped by the anger shining in his menacing stare, still offering that chilling white smile to his audience. “The man doesn’t like to share his toys, does he? I can’t say I blame you… she’s quite an experience.”

“Quite,” said another voice, and Gabrael’s ‘friend’ appeared. The Mantellian looked three quarters composed, one-eighth conciliatory, and one eighth at his wits’ end. “Please pardon my agent,” he lightly soothed Pterro. “I made him try a Lokkian Booster Blast without due prep.” Turning to Gabrael: “Agent Willix, this is—”

“Lieutenant Pterro,” said Gabrael. “I can see.” He nodded to the Imp’s transponder. “Glad you made it here, Lieutenant. Or did I mishear about the incident at Mugwaar’s Palace?”

At the mention, Pterro tensed—which made Jyn curious to know more about it, to know how Gabrael had intel on him in the first place, too.

After some uncomfortable seconds, Pterro visibly sobered up. “You know what it’s like,” he said as if he was talking to his closest friends, confidential, “trying to navigate political tensions. You say one thing to the wrong person these days, and those terrorists try to turn in on you and play the martyrs. Luckily, not all Mantellians are this eager to start a fight… We can all agree on some things, but I don’t need to convince you as I see we already agree on women.”

Jyn felt like throwing up.

 _Haar’chak— don’t you dare compare yourself to him, you sick banthafucker._ _You don’t even deserve to breathe the same air._

“Except how to talk with them,” said Gabrael pleasantly. His Mantellian ‘friend’ _coughed._ Jyn shot him a side glance, trying to decide if she liked him or not.

“O _kay!”_ said the Mantellian. “I see hands without drinks. Shall we remedy that?”

Before anyone could respond, Pterro went to confront Gabrael with that same passive-aggressive behavior the two men were exuding like dying stars. “I don’t pay whores to _talk_ to them. And certainly not this one, she’s better off with her mouth full. Has she shown you all of her tricks? No one sucks quite like her, trust me.”

Gabrael met Pterro’s eyes without blinking. Noticeable only to Jyn, he shifted his fingers to touch her wrist. —Was he checking her pulse? Maybe trying to take a cue—give her influence on what he did next… “No thanks, Eoghan,” said Gabrael to the Mantellian, as if Pterro hadn’t spoken at all. “As you said: I’ve had enough.” He started to turn away from both men and toward Jyn.

Pterro’s hand shot out and grabbed Gabrael’s arm, less economically than Gabrael had grabbed his. “Send her back when you’re done with that tight little cunt,” an edge of threat: “would be a shame not to use it while she’s still warm.”

Jyn must have blinked. She missed how her drink was suddenly in Gabrael’s hand. Conversely, she didn’t miss a nanosecond of him fulfilling _her_ impulse by smashing it into Pterro’s head.

People around them gasped. Pterro staggered, a trickle of blood standing out in the green liquid that poured down his face.

“Oops,” said Gabrael. “That was clumsy of me. Take over, Eoghan, will you?”

“Fucking right I will,” growled Eoghan. He got to Pterro’s side and slipped his arm under the other’s armpits to prop him up.

“Sorry!” called Gabrael to the onlookers. “But come _on!_ He tried to tell me the _Wild Karrde_ ’s win didn’t count because of their modifications.”

That won the crowd instantly; shock vanished for laughs, cheers, and boos. Eoghan shot Gabrael a withering look, but he still took the exit to rush Pterro away.

“Say hello to your wife for me,” Jyn waved at him. Gabrael coughed into his hand to cover a laugh. As he straightened, his fingers slipped from Jyn’s wrist to her hand. He said, “Can I refresh your drink?”

She couldn’t help herself, she _laughed_.

“It’s not my drink you need to refresh.” Jyn stepped closer and tilted her head to meet his height. “You’re hot when you’re protecting me… but don’t do it again. I don’t want you in trouble because of me.” Granted, his was the public persona that yielded better to such behavior than hers. At the same time, if he kept making himself collateral in _her_ fights…

“Eoghan says I’m the one _making_ the trouble.” His fingers slipped to the hinge of her jaw, gentle, tracing her face… but his eyes were apologetic. “But I won’t. You’re right. Sorry. I keep barging in rather than let you handle things yourself. I just…”

“Just what?” she whispered, not knowing if she wanted an answer— but dying to have one.

His fingers stilled. His eyes searched hers like they were starscapes.

“These _villains_ have no idea,” he whispered. “Who you are.”

“Who would that be?”

“I don’t know, either, but _so much more._ ”

Jyn had hoped for a different answer, yet she hadn’t expected this one. She circled an arm around his middle, smoothing down the fabric of her dress with her free hand, and pointed towards a less crowded area, away from the buffet. “Let’s try not to make ourselves such a center of interest. Maybe I’ll get why people seem to like those events so much.”

Gabrael followed her lead, appearing to walk them both where she’d pointed.

As they crossed the room, she belatedly remembered. “By the way, what ‘incident at Mugwaar’s Palace’?”

“No idea,” he murmured back. “I picked a place where an idiot with no impulse control might get in trouble, where his superiors might care. I lucked out.”

Jyn snorted, wishing she had thought of it herself.

⁂

_Which_ idiot with no impulse control? This was still justifiable as playing the part. Cassian wondered if that justification was what allowed him to act like this, or if it was luck, and whether he’d be able to stop when that ran out.

He still had to do what he’d come here for. Having made a scene could make it harder. On the other hand, similar scenes had been playing out all day. Drinking plus gambling plus politics plus sports; of course blood was gonna be shed. He had to hope this scene served the ends of getting White Snake’s confidence by discouraging anyone else from karking with him.

It was mostly working. Most guests seemed to have forgotten the incident as quickly as it had unfolded; but Cassian was catching a few eager looks from people he immediately pegged as _Wild Karrde_ supporters. Not a threat, but he wanted them to go away, too. Regain some anonymity. Let spilled drinks dry. Recharge his reserves for performing. And be with her.

“I see some sports fans eying me for debate,” Cassian murmured in Nova’s ear. “Help me escape?”

“My specialty,” she said, guiding him with her to another flight of stairs. Her hand stayed in his own at all times, like she was his dutiful wife. She soon had him against a marble pillar, on the upper level of the ceremonial hall, free from any heated debates about the derby. She leaned her body against him, looking across the room pensively, and if they attracted any more stare, this time it wasn’t because of him.

Feeling her against him like this… Having just come from a moment of violence, it was hard to stomach a leap to _arousal;_ but _rest, comfort,_ with her, were gravity. He wanted to find somewhere deserted, pull her into his arms, bury his face in her hair, and sink with her into the earth. …But, no, that _wasn’t_ justifiable. He had to maintain a presence and some level of show. He looked around for a good way to siphon some leftover adrenaline, even out, clear his head…

Oh. Well… look at what floor they’d arrived on. “Should we dance?” he asked.

Nova blinked at him in dismay. “I don’t know how to dance,” she smiled as an apology. “Not like this, anyway.”

That was… interesting. (Possibly intel. — _ritualist dancer on Jedha._ ) But then, Cassian had only learned Core Ballroom—from Mon Mothma and Bail Organa—because _Your cover identity will be expected to know…_

“Do you want to learn?” he asked. “It’ll take two minutes. You don’t have to,” he added the familiar refrain. “Just one way to reassimilate.”

Something darker briefly crossed her gaze. She shifted the weight of her body from him and said: “Yes, sure.”

That expression made him want to take it back. But he’d also figured out, once she’d verbalized a decision, he shouldn’t keep pushing. “If you don’t like it, we’ll stop. Just give me a sign. Stomp on my foot.”

“I might do it either way,” she laughed. He grinned back. Smiling was so easy when she laughed.

“Okay. Starting stance, obvious.” He set her hand on his shoulder, put his on her waist, and linked their others. “I don’t know why so many bipedal species do this the same. It’s like how most planets’ names in their own languages mean _‘dirt’.”_

“It’s the nihilism of our existence,” she explained, following his non-verbal instructions. “ _Came from the dirt, back to the dirt._ ”

“I like to think it’s the foundation and life-giving part, but, either way.”

“So you’re the optimistic type… you hide it so well I almost didn’t notice.”

With how many people in existence was _he_ the hopeful one? _Know everything terrible in pursuit of what had to be better._ “I’ll take it. So—here’s what our feet are doing.”

As he’d figured, she picked up the steps at once. It was much simpler than the fighting techniques he’d seen her display. (Her grace that could only seem so effortless out of intensive work.) He even ran her through a few of the variations and flourishes. “Not much to it. Mostly it’s just a matter of following each other. Want to try?”

She nodded an agreement. He stepped back to more formally offer his hand and moved them to the edge of the dance floor. Pressure low: there were plenty of intoxicated dancers to compare favorably to. And the song that had just started wasn’t terrible. “In three, two…”

Nova didn’t seem intimidated, as if she’d done it a hundred times before. She clearly, however, had no idea how to let a partner lead her. This was so unbelievably in character that Cassian almost laughed again. “Sorry,” she bit her lip when she walked over his foot, “told you.”

He touched his lips to her ear and whispered, “If this wasn’t Imperial space, I’d _so love_ to follow your lead.” Her grip tightened on his shoulder. He pressed her waist a little in return. “Not a problem. It only has to _look_ like I’m dominating. I’ve always thought it’s the other partner who really has control.”

“You will find I have way less control than you think I have,” she whispered back.

His arm hugged more fully around her. “That’s okay. We’ve got each other.”

(On a far distant planet, with not a clue why, two-thirds of the Alliance armed forces fainted in shock. Captain Droid-Only-Friend being… charming? _**unintentionally**? _Surely the end was nigh.)

She turned her head and left a kiss on his jaw. “We do.”

He pressed his lips to her hair beside the shining feather. Then pulled back enough to meet her eyes, smile, and move them fully into the dance.

_Just follow each other._

The plan backfired. …Maybe. He couldn’t tell. (Which _was_ the plan backfiring. He was _supposed_ to tell.) But his situational awareness, most of his senses, dropped away. For a delirious cosmic moment, his universe had become her motions and her eyes. He was pretty sure there was music playing. Some current carried them along and kept them in sync— Or, no. In rhythm. They didn’t need help syncing together. They slipped among and between any other orbiting bodies like… _Oh…!_ That’s what she was. A shooting star; shining out of her eyes, igniting in his arms.

“You’re good at this,” she observed, already moving with more ease.

“I’m controlled-falling,” he answered. “I’m always three steps away from my face on the floor.”

She laughed again, clear and genuine. Her arm curled around his shoulder, her fingers in the nape of his neck, pulling her closer to him. “I’ll catch you if you fall.”

…why was that what did it?

Out of orbit, out of control, free-falling into the night. Propelling them away from the dancefloor, out a door, into a dark deserted… what, even, pantry? with him again pinning her to a wall.

His hand ran through and under the high slit of her skirt, finding her skin, mapping the muscles of her thigh. Hoisting her, holding her up so their faces, chests, _everything,_ met; kissing her mouth and throat and everywhere she opened to him; head spinning like he was caught in her ion trail. She locked her legs around his hips, her fingers kneading the hard muscles of his shoulders like a vivid replay of that night in the alley. She tugged on his collar, asking for more kisses, her breathing heavy and irregular. He bent to her ardently and searched with his mouth for every place that made her flex and gasp. His hands now under her, behind her, around her, holding and pulling and caressing her, joining his lips in seeking her every response.

She let out a strangled moan, her chest heaving under the thin fabric of her dress. His freer hand skimmed up her leg, her side; cupped her breast, thumb running in front, needing to know every line of her, feeling out which was her heartbeat from his.

Her face fell down at level with his neck, and her lips burned a trail of warmth along it, coming up to his ear. His head fell back to arch his neck still more to her, pulse pounding. Teeth grazed his skin, sending a spark of electricity through his entire body, softened by the flat of her tongue over him. She kissed him like she wanted to leave her mark on him, and oh skies, he wanted her to.

“Let me touch you,” she breathed into his ear.

He didn’t know where he dragged his voice back from, but this was too important not to say. “Can I, you, too?”

“Fuck, yes, please.”

 _Holy Force._ He kissed her hard and sank to his knees. He kissed her stomach, her thighs, as his hands ran inside her gown until he found a hem. His fingers hooked it instantly, drawing it down, until the barrier garment fell unaided down her legs. He looked up into her blinding eyes, to confirm. Then he bent to her fully and put his mouth to her. Her hands grabbed his shoulders for support, just as he heard more of those intoxicating sounds she had in stock for him.

He’d expected he’d stand again, to do as she asked—if she wanted mutual agency here—but if she was willing to relinquish hers a moment, then _skies and Force_ he was going to make her make those sounds some more. He deepened the kiss, like the touch of her flesh was how he needed to breathe, bringing lips and tongue to bear, as his hands still held her up and urged her legs apart, gently, wider. She hooked one over his shoulder, conserving her balance only by holding onto him. Another moan fell from her lips, way less controlled than the previous ones. _Yes, there, go on…_ He pressed upward, bracing her higher, deepening the cradle of her stomach and thighs, bringing _her_ _forward_ to meet where he lavished her. He wanted her to feel like the shooting star he’d discovered her to be.

She arched her back from the wall, her hips almost moving with him. Her fingers wound into his hair, never pulling enough to hurt, just being… there… _mine._ He rode with her, while his mouth never wavered, pinpoint focused where should most blaze and _build…_ He wanted this for hours, as long as she let him, while also dying to know what she tasted and sounded like if she came…

“How are you… do you… Fuck, ah—”

Her hips rolled around him, digging him deeper, her hands guiding him by his hair; struggling abs and legs and every singing fiber pulling him on. He gripped her and moved with her, making her a perfect angle seated against the wall, curving her up as far as he could help her to go.

“I want you so bad,” she choked out.

_…Oh…_

Which was he supposed to fight? The restraint or the abandon? Are there things that really can’t be willed away…?

_Why we fight…_

_…until I know your real name…_

He couldn’t. No matter how much he wanted. How much _she_ wanted, which was _so much more important._ That last barrier… _real name…_

He couldn’t.

Do _that._

But there was still what he _could._

Not leaving her untouched for a moment, no interruption, he replaced the flat of his tongue with the pad of his finger. Rough harder skin but just as gentle, cooler but still flowing, every bit as meticulous. He dragged his body up along hers. He braced his knee between her legs against the wall to keep her fully seated, curved, so his less crucially occupied hand could again caress her fully. It roamed from her hair to her breast to the small of her back. He kissed her breasts and mouth and neck, joined his heaving breath with hers, and pressed and ground himself upon her so she could feel him too; how together in this they were; never letting up the softest whirlpool of his finger without. Then he added another curled and caressing gently frontward, to her same nerves and tissues on the other side, within.

She angled her hips to deepen the touch, breathing out a long, needy moan that he swallowed into their kiss. She licked his lips, less focused, more urgent, trembling against him. Her hands moved on him, falling to his belt and pulling at him with impatient gestures. She had it opened before he could figure out whether to help. He felt none of his usual reservations. Just pressed his hips to hers and let himself push full into her waiting hand. She palmed him through layers of clothes to unlock _his_ first answering sound from the back of his throat. It wouldn’t usually be enough to let him go even that far. It was because it was _her._

Her hands came back to open the front of his pants, and suddenly, she was past his underwear and closing her fingers around him. She moaned louder when she did, not knowing if it was because of his hands on her or hers on him.

_It’s just following each other._

He couldn’t be worried about how slick he was already in her grasp. He couldn’t worry what his vocal cords were doing without him, nor about the movement of his own body, hard and ragged to the rhythm of her wrist. Her thumb put pressure over the tip of him and he buried the sound he made into her neck. She gasped, slight moisture on her skin, burning hot under his touch. He resisted making his own touch harder, to match what she was pulling out of him; on her, he stayed like water.

Her knees bent inward, clutching him in, a pleading moan in her throat. “I’m gonna come.”

“Yes, please,” his lips shaped on her skin. He’d meant to say _I’d love you to_ but all that came out was, _“I’d love.”_

She twisted her hand, stroking him to the base. Her lips parted over a silent sound, a hard frown creasing her brows. She opened her eyes again, looking at him, _looking_ at _him_. Their joined eyes were the vortex of starlines nearing light speed… who was entering whom…? the _tether line_ that pierced him to his bones… his hand on her thigh gripped and pulled her to him hard as he choked out and just barely kept himself from coming in her hand. She met his lips and he held himself up to meet her; and though he throbbed through his whole body, neck and back arched as he bucked _up_ into her touch, his relentless fingers worked her smooth—

Her voice broke into a high-pitched sound of pleasure. She clenched around his fingers repeatedly. The force of her release went through him. The dig of her hips, arch of her throat, muscled walls rippling upon him, and above everything the depth and pull of her once-hurt but not hurting claiming soaring galaxy-containing _eyes_ His knees buckled her voice lips legs the stars of her eyes He _burstfloodcum_ so hard, pulling and pouring all the way through him, he nearly bowled them both to the ground.

They grasped each other, gasping and thudding, and again free-falling. All of her muscles hard and taut, and then, finally relaxing into a melted burning core. She grabbed his wrist to ease the pressure, heavily breathing through her mouth; and he obeyed at once, gentling his touch outside and in, stopping movement and just… _holding_ her there, pressing gently where she radiated and poured the warmth and light to him, too. He held himself against her as he finished throbbing out, nectared warmth spreading through him, the darkness spinning and he could disintegrate through the world.

They held on, pulsing through, their eyes still deep locked.

He didn’t mean to, but he gave way first. His braced leg slipped from between hers, from the wall, and the rest of him sank with it. She caught him under the armpits and sank down with him. He caught her in his arms in return, and took her softly into the mold of him, propping himself for both of them against the wall.

Nova had her hands around his face, gently tracing the lines of him, kissing his swollen lips softly. His hand came up to the back of her head, cradling her so tenderly as if that could keep anyone from ever being rougher to her there again; carding his fingers through her dark hair and holding them both steady as he returned the kiss.

“Do you believe in the Force?” she whispered against his lips.

He definitely hadn’t expected her to say that. _Amazing._ He was so fiercely glad she said _anything._ No stunned or shamed silence. They were both here. “I’ve never been sure,” he kiss-whispered back. “Sometimes… Not necessarily the way the Jedi said… But, sometimes. Why?”

“My mother… she was an adept… She told me to trust the Force, but I never really did… I thought—” She paused. He craned his face back to look at her, listening intently. “But when I’m with you, I want to believe.”

He didn’t think he’d had any breath left. He had. It all went out of him now. _Oh skies, Star, yes, that’s it, me too._ He was such a poor reward for her courage, to say such a thing, because he couldn’t find any words back. But he wrapped his arm tight around her, cupped her face, and kissed her with all the depth of his _wanting to believe, with her, too._

And another piece. _‘Trust in the Force.’_ He understood the necklace, now.

_They don’t know who you are. I don’t either… but I do. I see you._

_…I’m sorry_

_We had this. We can never not have had this._

_Please don’t let her regret it._

They sank into a silence after all, but it wasn’t the one he’d feared. They listened to one another’s steadying, slowing breath the way they’d listened to the music of the dance. He felt her loose and relaxed against him as deeply as he’d felt what they’d just done.

Of course, it had to end. But feke the grakhing Galaxy, with its violence and suddenness of loss. They had this moment to choose and control. They could make _this_ ending a gentle one. “We should probably clean up,” he murmured, “before… anything… sets in. I should’ve… I’m sorry about… oh, kark. You know.”

A low sound of laughter buzzed against him. “Yeah, I _know_.” She pushed on her knees to regain some balance, bent toward him and pressed her lips next to his ear. “Next time, you’ll just have to come inside me.” He jolted and breathed a worshipful curse in a way that made her laugh more. Then she fully pushed herself up, trying to put some order in her appearance.

That comment knocked him flat for another few minutes. Not just because it had made his overstimulated nerve endings short circuit and nearly climax _again,_ pouring his entire being onto the floor. And not necessarily because of his everlasting sense of doom. Yes, ‘next time’ may never come, _everything in the way, can’t do this,_ on pfassking on. It was the relaxed, teasing, _trust._ Not only not regretting what had just happened, but allowing themselves to enjoy the idea of doing it again. For this moment, that idea, this feeling, in of itself, was immutable. _We had this._

He stirred at last. Letting himself keep the warmth in his mind, he nonetheless cast a more critical eye. She’d cleaned up his ejaculate from her hand. That left a fair amount on his own pants. Miraculously, he seemed to have spared her dress. (They’d had it hiked quite far up her… no, stop that, _next time_ can _**not**_ be **now**.) And… hey, look at that… they were indeed in a closet. _Grakhing hell._ Was this a _first_ for him?

_(I mean. Yes. In every important way.)_

Shhhh. Calm down. Like rutting ash rabbits, they’d orgasmed wildly together in a _closet,_ but on the more (ha) ‘evolved’ side: convenient cleaning supplies. “Can you hand me that towel?”

Nova finished adjusting her dress to properly cover herself up and handed him the white rag she’d snatched from a shelf. His pants were dark and fairly stain-resistant and mopped up well. He stood, glad his legs were no longer shaking, and squinted into the dark. “Sorry, do you see my belt anywhere?” …and her undergarments, if she didn’t have them yet.

“There— ” she said, crouching down to pick it up. Then in her body language, just for an instant… “Is this… yours?”

“What?” He moved closer, cupping his fingers around hers to look.

Oh, pfassk it. Fallen out of his pocket: the karking cubed bloodflower.

Moments like this, it was hard _not_ to believe in the Force. And think it was an asshole. _I know, I know._

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I’m supposed to wear that… I was putting it off.” He frowned into the dark. “You okay?”

A moment of silence met him. Then, over her breath: “Yes, fine. Do you want me to pin it for you?”

“Sure, thank you.” He ran his thumb appreciatively along hers, before making himself let her go. He opened the botanical cube and left the flower in her hand. (He’d find a place to throw away the empty shell, and the soiled towel. He’d noted a furnace vent when checking exits. That would work to scrub his DNA.)

She stepped closer, straightening his jacket and pinning the ornament over his breast pocket, perfectly angled. Her eyes lingered on it for a while, as if she thought it to be of bad taste. He brushed a loosened strand of her hair and wove it back around the flutterplume feather. At last, she met his gaze again and smiled, eyes glossing in the dark. “Kiss me.”

Something had happened. Something had changed. Cassian frowned, one more useless time searching her face, but would (while he still could), without pause, do as she asked. He brought his hands again to her cheeks, trailed his fingers to her hair, and kissed her gentle and deep. She gave back to him more than anyone had ever given him; something desperate to scream: _this is real_.

But then broke away. “I need to find a ’fresher,” Nova said. “I’ll meet you back in a bit.”

He let her go with one hand. He couldn’t help but let the other, just one more moment, linger. “…Of course. Meet by the bandstand?”

She nodded, dragging her hand along his arm before stepping away. He watched her, as she cracked the door open, peering outside discreetly before exiting the dark closet. The purple of her gown shone under the lights with blue and silver undertones, still radiant and graceful. …but she no longer moved with the freedom of a shooting star.

Cassian looked after her. And, after all, against his stupidest karking _hope,_ wondered what he’d just done.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...🔥🔥🔥
> 
> So there is that, hope you enjoyed that chapter because we sure did!


	11. Escape Velocity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **escape velocity** _(astronomy)_ the speed required for an object to escape the gravitational pull of a planet or other body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ CW: vomit, CW: blood

**11: Escape Velocity**

Jyn walked into the first empty restroom she could find, locked the door, and stumbled to the sink on trembling legs. She braced herself with both arms, hands gripping the edge of the dark surface until her knuckles turned white. An uncontrolled tremor started to shake her body, from head to toe, making it hard to stand and harder to breathe. Gods, she couldn't breathe at all. Jyn bent over, her mind spinning, her heart racing between her ribs. The ground shifted beneath her, pulling at her with increased gravity, as she desperately held onto that sink with all of the strength she had left.

The bloodflower.

It was him. Of course, it had always been him. She knew it. She simply refused to see it because she _didn't_ want to. Because she was so eager to have this, to have him… _someone_ , for the first time. Someone she had chosen, someone she could—

_But it's not your choice, even. He kept you near for a reason. He got you out of prison and brought you into this, if not for a confirmation on whom he must suspect you to be then he would be the most reckless spy of them all. Rebel spy. …Fulcrum._

And maybe that was what hurt the most: having that memory of them together ripped away from her broken heart the very moment she allowed herself to have it. Knowing that no matter what happened next, she would never be able to think about the intimacy they'd shared without the tainted misery of that downfall. The beautiful had vanished, leaving her coarse and bruised and frozen.

Jyn convulsed on her feet, gasping for air. She felt his lips on her, still, his fingers inside her, the warmth of his skin, the sound of his voice when—

_I'm sorry. I'm so sorry._

She wanted to run back to him more than she wanted to live, to confess everything, to drag him away from this place before it was too late. She wanted to disappear into the night and make love to him until they fell asleep next to each other… never sleeping without him ever again… never being without him again.

But he wouldn't let her; and she wouldn't let herself, either.

_—You have to go, even if I'm not with you._

Tears ran down her face, heavy and merciless. Her mind menaced to shut down, unable to sustain the damages. Jyn gagged and threw up into the sink, bile burning her throat.

_You're always with me. I'm so sorry, Nova. I'm sorry I couldn't save you. I'm sorry it was you and not me. I will never forgive them, I will never forget you. I will never stop fighting._

_— If you're still breathing, then you can still fight._

It was true. She knew it was…

_I wish we could've had this. I wish you could've been my whole life, and I swear I would've never let you go._

_But it's over now— it never started. People like you and me don't get to believe, we don't deserve what we yearn for. There's no happy ending for us and we all know it. It'll make the sacrifice easier in the end._

‘You'll never win’, her mother had said in front of the enemy. And Jyn had so many people she wanted to avenge. She would do it here, tonight— search the candlewick that matched the bloodflower. Take out the threat. Be the light floating over the dark horizon.

_—It reminds me of the fireflies on…_

_—If you don't tell me your real name._

_—We’ve got each other._

Jyn slowly straightened her posture. She forced her lungs to unclog and washed some cold water on her face, rebuilt a decoy composure and all the walls that came with it. When she finally peered at her reflection, the lifeless expression in her bloodshot eyes finished to remind her that she wasn’t that person she wished she could have been. This… illusion of life… from the other side of the mirror, would never be hers. _He_ would never be hers. And all the things she thought she had found in him weren’t hers to take. This masquerade had to die, _now_. …before it broke her, where everything else had failed to.

The lie was over.

And as Nova Sande had walked in, Jyn Erso walked out.

Later that evening, Jyn Erso unclasped a pearl from her bracelet, cracked the shell between her fingers, and let the substance dissolve into a drink. The blue lexonite powder instantly disappeared, odor and tasteless, leaving her with the perfect weapon in hand. She circled the event a couple of times, while someone else was waiting for her by the bandstand, and tracked down the candlewick.

She got close enough to finally see her mark’s face for the first time.

She patiently waited for White Snake to put down his drink, swapped it with hers— and disappeared.

⁂

 _Just one more round, friend,  
_ _Then homeward bound, friend!  
Don’t forget me in your dreams.  
We may not thrive, friend,  
_ _But we survive, friend.  
Look, we’re alive, friend: you and I…_

 _Just one more dance, friend;  
_ _Just one more chance, friend;  
_ _One more chorus, one more tune.  
_ _It’s not the end, friend.  
_ _If you’re a friend, friend,  
_ _Then you’ll come back to me soon._

 _Yes, it’s a crime, friend.  
_ _Time can fly,_  
_So it’s goodnight, friend.  
_ _Goodnight—but not goodbye._

The band’s cover was instrumental. Cassian hadn’t thought he’d known the lyrics, but now couldn’t get them out of his head.

He stood where he said he’d be. He knew she wasn’t meeting him.

She was doing him a favor. —overcoming his failures for him when he obviously couldn’t. —forcing him to perform his goddamn job. —doing what was right for the (hey, remember the—?) rest of the Galaxy.

Forget her feel in his arms and mouth. Forget the way she curved and gripped and held him, too. Forget everything she said. It would play later with the other flashbacks he could only let pass through. Cut off. Lock up. Mission first. He’d clear this floor before sweeping the next and shut the doors as he went.

Like it had just been waiting for him to care, he spotted the candlewick by the drinks table. It definitely hadn’t been there before, and not just because Cassian had _(been a traitorous derelict and)_ not been looking. The way the other’s eyes were already on him suggested he’d been waiting to see Fulcrum’s flower before donning his own.

Cassian went to the table, surveying the drinks, winding up naturally at the other’s side.

The candlewick wearer leaned to welcome him. “Quite a race.”

“Always is.” Cassian would read like someone too pompous to show interest. That was nice. Easy to channel the return of his prerequisite deadness.

“It seems indulgent,” said the other. “Why do beings crave attention this way?”

“There’s a place for spectacle, isn’t there? Without legacy, we burn our deeds from this world.” —The irony rang having to say it aloud. Cassian believed the opposite. _If no one knew we lived, or that anything had been done at all, the effects of our deeds are what remain._

“True,” said the other. “If we do not fight.”

Great. “More smalltalk?” Cassian angled inward while keeping his pose _bored._ “Or shall we go somewhere quieter?”

“I’d rather stay out here.” White Snake swirled his blue drink. “You should drink something to justify hovering.”

Ugh, after last time. But correct. Cassian indicated Snake’s glass to the ’tender. “Same as he’s having.” Mirroring body language and echoing words subliminally ingratiate mimic to model; so, to some extent, do drink orders. The ’tender nodded and got to work. Cassian turned again to Snake. “I’m surprised you wanted to meet here. So high visibility.”

“What can I say,” said Snake. “If you want to mask your luminescence, put yourself next to a sun.” (Nice. The megalomaniacal version of transmitting off Mannett from under Garnik.) “Speaking of visibility; for a spy, you’re _lousy_ at keeping a low profile.”

“Was I supposed to be trying?”

“I’m not criticizing.” The bartender held out the drink; Snake took it first and passed it to Cassian, with a heft to salute. “I like your guts. The way you refuse to be cowed by stormtroopers. Your willingness to make yourself look like a lovesick idiot, so nobody thinks what else you might be doing. I’ve been enjoying it all.”

 _Fine, you’ve been watching me._ (For the _willingness to look like…_ Sure. Yeah. That’s what he’d been doing.) “So are _we_ going to stop dancing and set up your exfiltration? You still want Alliance sanctuary?”

“In return for my information on Black Sun.”

“And the whereabouts of our people.”

“Yes.”

“Name two.”

“Jan-lo; Mesoriaam.”

Contract confirmed.

White Snake finished, “And I’m just about satisfied you will indeed provide.”

“What more do you need?”

“Confirmation you aren’t really trying to kill me.”

The mudcrutch serious? “If I were, there wouldn’t have been so much hoop-jumping. Don’t overestimate your actual unreachability.”

“If you say so. It’s all right. We can settle it now.” Snake held up his drink in a toast. “To our agreement.”

Cassian had a bad feeling about this. But nothing for it. He clinked their glasses. “Agreement.”

They drank in concert, not hiding how they watched each other.

After a moment, White Snake burst into a grin.

“That’s it?” said Cassian.

“I’d gotten a tip, that an enemy had it out for me here, tonight.” White Snake took a heartier sip. “One with poison as an M.O. I’m now satisfied it wasn’t you.”

“Thanks so much. What’s our next step?”

“Can you memorize a time and address without hard copy?”

Cassian gave a heavy-lidded look. “No. I failed that course.” (—And _didn’t_ suddenly grab the edge of the table…)

White Snake gave another drink-curdling smile. “Very good.” He leaned and murmured the data like an unwelcome intimacy. “You’ll make the arrangements?”

“Done.”

White Snake toasted Cassian again, drank, and made a face toward the band. “Enjoy the rest of the party. I can’t stand this soundtrack any longer.” He set down his glass and vanished into the crowd.

Cassian snatched up the abandoned drink, keeping hold of his own, and took off.

Confirmed: the following. ’Fresher: empty. Both drinks: set, unspilled. Door: locked. What he needed now… the bloodflower would do it. Cassian ripped it off, bit an acrid petal, swallowed, and grabbed the sink to start vomiting.

White Snake had managed to tip his hand right before the pain started. Thank kark he’d bailed when he did.

_this fucking night_

Still puking, fumbling in his pocket, Cassian found his transponder. He had to figure out what had been in that pfassking drink—which White Snake had swapped with his own when he passed it along…

_ouch hell did I mention I fucking hate drinking rituals fuck this fucking planet oh ow Force_

The bile in the basin was showing blood. Pfassk. He’d kept the drinks but didn’t have any way to analyze. Even if he could… He needed help. There was no way to avoid it getting logged. Choking and heaving, he reached for his transponder.

_help Kay don’t come after me i’m sorry there wasn’t supposed to be a next time i’m so i’m sorry_

⁂

Jyn watched the exchange from the nearest balcony.

She thought she was prepared, now, knowing what she knew. Truth: she wasn’t. She almost doubled over and broke down again, seeing ~~Gabrael~~ _Fulcrum_ walking up to her mark, acknowledging, exchanging intel, sealing their deal. She saw it with her own eyes, yet her brain refused to accept it.

_Why? Why are you helping him? Why are you keeping him alive? Do you know who he is? Do you know what he’d done— ? I told you what happened to me and you hold me; but did you really care, then? If you can protect the villains and let the innocents die?_

Suddenly, she wished she had never met him. Would have been so much easier to walk away from this fucking planet without leaving so much of herself behind. …to him. She was eager to run away again, alone in the everlasting darkness of her life, without anyone to love.

… No. Don’t think it.

_Kriffin’ fucking hells. Too late. I hate this snarkin’ forsaken place, oh gods._

Jyn held still on the edge of the balcony. She had to confirm the mark’s death before leaving. She had seen them drink, but White Snake was still standing… How resistant could this fucker be? Lexonite wasn’t a mild poison, and the dosage had been heavy. He should have been on all four crying for his mother by now, not whispering sweet nonsense in Gabrael’s ear. Was he somehow _immune_ to it? Jyn had never heard of such a thing. By the Force, that would have been her fucking luck!

The mark was about to leave. She had a decision to make, urgently.

She couldn’t let him walk away— that munk was just as slippery to catch as his codename suggested. She couldn’t take the risk, she had to finish the job one way or another.

She _knew_ she should’ve smuggled a vibroblade with her, but anything else would do. Tonight. Right now. No way she would spend a single more day on Ord Mantell. She would do it with bare hands if she had to, but White Snake was a goner. Non negotiable.

Then, Gabrael grabbed both drinks and walked in the opposite direction. Jyn’s heart stopped beating.

_No. No, you didn’t._

Her eyes skimmed over the scene, latching onto White Snake for a few more seconds. She would lose track of him if she didn’t react now… and what for? _The mission comes first. Come on, Jyn, you know it. Remember. Remember the little girl, remember the whole Galaxy—_

Jyn spun around and started running. Shocked guests moved out of her way less quickly than she pushed them aside, followed by undignified insults. She didn’t make any effort to conserve a low profile, nor to salvage appearances, only concerned by what was happening on the floor. Jyn ran down the main staircase, the sound of her heels clapping on the marble floor like whiplash. She turned to the corridor she had seen him disappeared into, short of breath, and almost sent a Mantellian official to the ground. Catching her balance more quickly than the man, Jyn dashed out without glancing back.

A few moments later, her body violently crashed onto a closed door, unable to stop the inertia of her run sooner. She latched on the handle with both hands, pushed and shaked and grunted in rage, but the panel wouldn’t budge. Scanning her surroundings for an immediate solution, Jyn advised a decorative piece of artwork. _Heavy_ roonstone.

She grabbed the overly expensive sculpture and smashed it on the weakest point of the door. The lock gave way on the second try with a piercing complaint. Jyn barged inside, nothing but emergency services still running through her brain.

Gabrael was just losing his grip on the counter’s edge. In front of her, he fell to the floor before she could catch him. Jyn came down to her knees and rolled him on his side, feeling hands rising up and meeting her, trying to drag him upward enough that she could slide an arm under him.

“Open your mouth,” she said (ordered) in a hurry, trying to unlock his jaw. “Trust me!”

_What a stupid thing to say._

He looked at her not quite lucidly. He turned his head to force blood from his mouth to the floor, then turned his face to her again… and, against all reason, did as she said.

Jyn bit down hard enough that she heard a _crack_ from the inside her mouth. A weird, unsavory taste spilled on her tongue, quickly expanding as the texture reacted to her saliva. She bent down and covered his lips with hers, letting the counterpoison transfer to him. (Deal in poisons, protect against your own exposure.) The taste of his blood got mixed up in it, too, causing her to tremble.

“Swallow it,” she gasped. “You have to swallow.”

He gagged but kept his mouth closed—not spilling any antidote. His hand found and gripped her arm. He managed to swallow.

Jyn held his face, unable to look away from his dilated eyes. He held her gaze like he had when they’d… _oh gods ‘made love’? can you possibly claim that now? one hour and two lives later?_ He couldn’t hold back a fit and twisted in her arms to cough more blood onto the floor. But the amount and color… it was just residual in his mouth, or from biting his cheek or tongue. It wasn’t coming up from within. And, yes, _yes,_ his stomach was starting to unclench and torso soften against her. Jyn barely held back a sob.

_Will you ever forgive me? Does it matter if you don’t?_

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, cradling him. “You know it wasn’t for you.”

He opened his mouth to speak but started coughing again. She didn’t let him. She bent over him, holding him into her arms as if she could’ve merged them together, shattered their souls into stardust and let them rest as one forever. For the last time. Then, she slowly loosened her grip, rose back to her feet and stumbled out of the ’fresher.

“Help! I need help!”

It wasn’t hard to attract some attention, seeing her so distraught with blood on her hands, hijacking the first person she could find on her way and sending them to Gabrael. And while the commotion kept getting bigger and bigger inside the House of Government, Jyn slipped outside, running away from the crime scene, a shadow in the cold night.

More dead inside herself that she had ever been.

⁂

The med bay techs comm’ed Eoghan as soon as Cassian woke up. The Mantellian showed up with the transponder that had fallen from Cassian’s hands, and the report that they were investigating feking _Pterro_ for the poisoning.

“I dunno,” Cassian managed to rasp back. “Could’ve been a sports fan.”

Eoghan stared at Cassian. And broke into sputtered laughter. “You doshing grakhing vacc-head _shit.”_ Eoghan tossed the transponder onto Cassian’s pile of disinfected effects. “I don’t know how we haven’t already renegotiated your contract. Except that by making yourself such a target, you _are_ actually flushing out some ’nocks.”

“It’s my specialty.” _No,_ said imagined-Kay, _it’s not. What happened to **not** bringing everything down on yourself?_

Eoghan shook his head. “It’s a good thing you kept your head to grab the drink. They were able to tell what he gave you. Though wouldn’t have been enough if your date hadn’t gotten you help so fast.”

Cassian’s skull constricted. Things he’d assumed he’d hallucinated… “ _You_ didn’t get me? I comm’d you.”

“You dropped the comm. She followed you and shouted down the mansion to get you to medical. I’d give her flowers, if I were you.”

_No. No pfassking flowers._

Eoghan wasn’t mentioning what had or might become of her, without supervision. “When can I get out of here?” was what Cassian asked.

“I mean… they advise: not for a few days. Technically: whenever.”

Cassian promptly swung his feet to the floor and held onto the edge of the mattress until his head stopped spinning.

Eoghan sighed. “Good thing your contract is temporary, Will. If this city doesn’t kill you, _I_ might.”

“Thanks.” Cassian breathed through his nose, got up, and started getting dressed. “I’ll check in in the morning to resume work.”

Eoghan rolled his eyes. “Check in in the morning to confirm you haven’t _died.”_

⁂

Cassian got back to his quarters only having to grab one wall along the way.

Her things were gone. The only sign she'd ever been there: a rainbow feather on the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _[Goodnight, but Not Goodbye](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Goodnight,_But_Not_Goodbye/Legends)_ \- another ridiculous source, but the right song.


	12. Tidal Wave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **tidal wave**  
>  1. _(oceanography)_ a shallow water wave caused by the gravitational interactions between the Sun, Moon, and Earth.  
> 2. _(figurative)_ a sudden and powerful surge.

**12: Tidal Wave**

_\- hi k -_

_\- what are you doing - whats wrong -_

_\- no immediate danger - just having difficulty -_

_\- with what -_

_\- being human -_

_\- ive always criticized that -_

_\- yep -_

_\- what aspect of humanity -_

_\- psychological - neurochemical - endocrinal -_

_\- thats everything humans feel and do -_

_\- you see my problem -_

_\- if i actually did i might be able to advise -_

_\- theres this woman -_

_\- cannot advise -_

_\- didnt think so -_

_\- then why are you contacting like this -_

_\- just needed a minute with you -_

_\- you are being very concerning - should i come there -_

_\- negative under no circumstance no repeat no do not come here -_

_\- ok ok - sheesh -_

_\- k - confirm you understand - you would not be safe here -_

_\- that never stops you -_

_\- please dont be one i cant forgive myself -_

_-_

_\- k2 -_

_\- confirmed -_

_\- thank you -_

_\- now you have to do something for me -_

_\- what -_

_\- do something pleasant - for yourself - right now -_

_\- i am -_

_\- flattery doesnt work on me - something that engages all of you - now - literally - i expect a report next time - sign off and go -_

_\- yessir - signing off -_

Cassian switched off the transmitter and put his forehead on it.

 _Something pleasant that engages all of you._ His mind went right where it mustn’t. He made himself raise his head. Kay would ask him if he’d done it and he wouldn’t lie to Kay. He looked out at the vista surrounding Mannett Point. Sky. Mountains. Sea.

Fine. Clear, scrub, power down. Re-camouflage. Walk to beach. Strip off all his clothes. Set them under a rock above the tideline. Walk into the water.

‘Pleasant’ was conditional. Sometimes putting yourself into an expanse, like water, could be a kind of horror. Getting lost, stranded in your mind, in reach of something from the depths. It also might also be a _karking stupid_ idea while he was still recuperating. —But what wasn't, lately?

Feke everything. He moved through the water until his feet skimmed the sand. Then he went on his back and let the small waves hold him up, as he closed his eyes to the blue sun.

— _No matter what we do, the sea just doesn’t care. …keeps rolling over and over again._

Floating, further and further, it did feel like the water buffeted and siphoned some of it away; the poison, the breakdown, the strangling deadness. What was left was empty of _self,_ in a greater flow. _Maybe that’s all there is to the Force. In that case…_

He was held up and carried, sank and recovered, breathed, choked when a wave slapped his face. It either came to him through the water, or the water washed away resistance. Thanks, Kay. You helped him decide after all.

Cassian didn’t put his feet to the bottom again. He turned over, instead, to swim back out. At the last minute, he caught a wave and let it carry him to the shallows. The water resistance was surprisingly strong even to his shins. He focused power to his legs to walk steadily through. He made it and stood naked on the sand, eyes closed into the wind to let it blow and evaporate and shiver him dry. The salt stuck to his skin and his hair was still damp when he retrieved his clothes.

Eoghan had refused ‘Willix’ ’s login and imposed two days' med leave. At least he hadn’t mandated what Cassian actually _did_ with them. As Cassian had said to Kay once, when Kay objected to Cassian refusing to stay in bed, _No good healing my body if I lose my mind._ It was remarkable he’d just managed to float in the water for ten minutes. Doing nothing was not what he needed for any semblance of _healing._ He needed to _(fight)_ see things through—however far he could take them.

Cassian left Mannett Point but not for the deepdock.

_—Will you tell me where you went? —Breakwater district. I have a stash there. It’s secure._

He had two ( _truthfully: **four** )_ days. He’d comb the district street by street if he had to. She’d (still?) be there somewhere because she had to be. He needed her to be.

_—When I’m with you, I want to believe._

_—Trust in the Force._

_I’m trying,_ he thought angrily to what might not exist. _If you’ve helped anything, ever, do it now._

He still wouldn’t count on _‘the Force’_ to do it _for_ him. He bullied his body to the requisite stamina when it protested, and interrogated everything with tactical eyes.

She and he operated similarly. From fighting side-by-side, from tracking and intersecting each other’s op.s, they’d revealed some of the same techniques. There were also all the details he’d collected uniquely on her.

When choosing security, you went high or you went low.

( _—I can’t have any more ghosts following me around._ She’d keep others from risk by proximity.

 _—I’m afraid of the dark._ The way she’d looked in that prison cell.)

She would go high. Removed from others, able to see in all directions, no risk of getting engulfed or crushed, and there was always a way out—even if it was to jump or fall.

He walked to the quays where she’d taken him to see the boats in the night. — _Charissian fireflies—_

…and saw the broken lighthouse.

_—If all else failed, you’d always have means to light a fire._

A lighthouse is the opposite of being lost in the dark.

Leaving his grid unfinished, Cassian broke into a jog.

⁂

Jyn stared at the distant, flat horizon, watching the sun descent to touch the darkening water of the Coral Coast. Fisherfolks were already coming up to shore, surrendering the waters to pirates and scavengers for the night. Everyone seemed to know their place in the grand scheme of things. Everyone but Jyn Erso, who looked at the ocean without hearing the sound of the waves anymore.

She stood on the south side of the broken lighthouse, her feet on the edge of the platform. No wind on that day to blow her hair around or carry sounds from the docks. Even the gulls seemed to have deserted Breakwater district, as if they knew not to witness the scene. Her eyes stayed focused on the distance, never looking down, but not by fear of the height. She didn’t mind the altitude, never had— only wondered what it would be like to free-fall to the ground. Would she exist during those few seconds freer than she had ever been? Would it be worth it for a lifetime of misery? Probably not.

But wouldn’t it be nice to bargain, anyway.

_—I’ll catch you if you fall._

She wouldn’t do it. Even if she had it in her to be defeated by _this,_ her life belonged to others, not herself. For just an instant, though, she let herself feel it; daring the possibility; lifting her foot.

 _“ **Stop**!”_ Out of nowhere, an arm was thrown around her waist. It pulled her backward, off her feet, falling from the ledge through the broken panes. There was nothing to grab to refuse gravity. She would have cracked her skull against the floor of the lantern room, but there was something between it and her—a body, whose arms still caught her, and was trembling with effort, or fury, or fear…

Jyn rolled over, all of her senses reintegrating her body at once. A shocking surprise parted her lips, looking back into Gabrael’s eyes without making sense of his presence. She hadn’t heard him climbing and she was dead certain she hadn’t told him about this place. But did it really matter to know how— when she should’ve been worried about _why_?

Her brain tried to get her off of him, her body refused to cooperate. _You’re alive. Thank gods, you’re alive._

“I told you to stop!” Jyn growled, clutching the front of his tunic in her fists. “Stop trying to save me!”

He released her and fell back so she could roll free. Jyn looked at him without moving, still holding his shirt. She wished he had yelled something back, given her a reason to be angry at someone else than herself for a change. He didn’t do her the favor. He maintained silence, catching his breath without looking at her—as if he couldn’t stand the idea.

She couldn’t blame him after what she’d done to him. But _blast_ , did it hurt.

Jyn lowered her forehead until it rested over his chest, listening to his rapid breathing, like she was going to beg for forgiveness. She didn’t. She let go of him and fell back by his side, defeated. “Why are you here?” she whispered, at last, looking at the static sky through missing roof panelings.

She could almost hear his raging mind—and all the answers she would have hoped for. _I don’t know. I have to be. Why we fight. Trust the Force. I don’t fucking know._

He said, voice hoarsened by emotion or exertion (or lexonite), “This can’t end like _that.”_ A breath. Then everything about him—expression, body tension, everything—became something hatefully familiar. A spy. He said in the altered voice, “We’re part of each other’s missions. That’s clear now. Not just ’cause we made ourselves be. So, fuck it. Who are you?”

Jyn recoiled, hurt by the brutality of his words. _We meet at last, Fulcrum._

Mission, duty, intel, objectives and assets. What a fool she was hoping for anything else. She dug her nails into her palms to keep her from showing any other sign of emotion. He hadn't come for _her_.

“Does it matter who I am?” she asked in a dry tone, now the one refusing to look at him. “You already know why I’m here.”

“To assassinate the one I was talking to. Who are you working for?”

Jyn sat up with her back straight, contained, composed. “Why do you want to know? It’s clear we’re not on the same side. I don’t even know why you came here… you wasted your time. And mine.”

He made a strangled sound deep in his throat. “Yeah. We’re on different sides. Okay. We know about each other now. Working against each other like we _don’t_ know is _really_ a waste of our time. So let’s see if we can come to an arrangement. I need the mudcrutch alive. Why do you need him dead? If it’s to get rid of him from Ord Mantell, my way might work for both of us.”

She shot him a menacing glare and snapped back: “No, it’s not going to work for both of us! I don’t give a shit what you need, I’m going to kill him. So I suggest you get rid of me first because that’s your only option.”

He ignored that. The idiot was still going to try to convince her. “I have lives depending on getting him out.”

“Because you think _I_ don’t have lives depending on it?” she snarled, waving a raging hand in the air. “Do you think it’s my fucking hobby to hunt down those fucking munks on this fucking shitty planet and—” Jyn suddenly closed her mouth, biting hard enough on her tongue that she almost tasted blood. Breathing in, breathing out. Her voice fell back down to a control tone, cold and impersonal. “I’m going to kill him, and you’ll be sorry if you’re in my way.”

His tell this time was one clenched hand. _Digging nails into palms as she’d just done…_ as he cast about— “Do you have to do it yourself?”

She frowned. “What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“Let me get him where I need him. We’ll take what he owes us. Then I’ll send him where _you_ need him.”

“Why would I even let you do that? So you can extract him without trouble while I sit and watch like a fucking idiot? Do you really want me to believe that you _can_ give him back up? The Empire are the ones who double-cross their own double-crossers. Your side’s the one everyone’s supposed to be able to _trust._ Why are you even helping him? Do you know what he’s done—?” Jyn caught the crack in her voice just before it could break further and held on; resentment better than sorrow. “Don’t even bother answering that… I’d rather keep the lie of the person I thought you were. I guess you were better as a Sep than you are as a Rebel.”

And for once, she hoped the words hurt just as much as _she_ was hurting. Pushing herself off the ground with one swift motion, Jyn made a move to swing the bag of equipment over her shoulder, decided to put an end to this.

To her lack of surprise, Fulcrum pushed up, too. But only to his knees. He caught one of her hands, so ineffectually, so without a chance if she chose to break away; just grasping at straws. “Then come with me. Off this fucking planet. Take him with me to my people. We’ll get his intel on our POWs and everything else. As soon as they’re saved, you’ll kill him. I’ll help.” It was visible, how _stupid_ he knew his own suggestion was; how she was right that whatever promises the Alliance made wouldn’t work like that and they needed to keep faith; how it made no sense for her and could make a traitor of him… and beneath it all: how furious he was at himself for not being able to solve this. —maybe more so for the compulsion to try. —one more _try. “Come with me.”_

Jyn stilled, the bag falling from her grip with a loud _tumb_ on the floor. She looked back into his pleading eyes, letting her fingers brush the side of his face like a sleepwalker. He wasn’t a man to ever beg on his knees, she was sure of it. It knocked down the walls again, breaking the armor with the most acute pain bursting in her chest.

“I can’t… come with you,” Jyn whispered, a suffocating lump in her throat. “I’m part of the Third State Federation.”

_Isk’ka— what the hell are you doing?_

He reacted visibly. Without surprise, the name meant something to him. Good, she thought. …but behind the new tension lines on his face, the gears still spun.

“If his intel helps the Rebellion destabilize Black Sun,” he said, “isn’t that good for all of us?”

And the walls kept crumbling down around them, stranded in the middle of this devastating storm. She’d already known it. She knew whose agent Fulcrum was. It still felt like something: the first time _he’d_ said _Rebellion_ out loud.

“No, not good,” Jyn mouthed, realizing just how blinded he was by his side of the lens. “This is where it ends, right now. We always knew it was coming… This is where you and I end.”

_If there ever was such a thing as you and I… If you ever thought of me as I thought of you. If you asked me to come, not because of the mission—but because you couldn’t stand the idea of leaving me behind. I wished you would have said it… Just once would’ve been enough for me._

“I wish I’d met you somewhere else,” Jyn said instead, dangerously close to her last breaking point.

“No, please.” He stood and embraced her. Still no force, not confining—he wouldn’t. She could actually believe he never would. He wouldn’t even be doing _this_ if they didn’t both understand… His palms shaped to her back and his face pressed to the curve of her shoulder and neck… heartbeat palpable in his throat and wrists.… his chest under her, deafening— _“ **Please**.”_

Jyn missed a beat, her hands frozen mid-air, not knowing what to do, what to say, what to _feel_. Why did he have to make it so fucking difficult to leave him? She thought, not without shame, that it would've been better if the lexonite had hit his system _just_ a bit harder—keeping him confined to medbay while she cleaned off this mess behind her.

But…

Very slowly, hyper-aware of all the bad decisions she was making—unable to stop them—Jyn closed her arms around him, returning the embrace. _What a fucking disaster._ Her grip soon became desperate, face buried in his shirt, the smell of his skin so close and so comforting that she felt light-headed from the proximity. His hand moved to her hair, fingers impossibly gentle, still.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed, _Fulcrum_ all gone. “Please wait. Give me a chance to figure this out. It can’t just go like this. Please.”

Jyn trembled. He was truly being so snarkin’ dense about the situation; _why can’t you just accept that we’re screwed and can’t have it all?_ but somewhere underneath it all… Jyn was just a nineteen years old girl, tired, lonely and hurt— and in love with a man she couldn’t have.

“Is this still about the mission?” she finally said, losing control over her words. “All there is to it? Aren’t you tired? Because, by gods, I’m so kriffin’ fucking tired of it all.”

He breathed from the planet’s core. “I’ve never put anyone ahead of a mission in my life. Including me. I’ve put you… me… this… ahead nine times.” Oh, great. Did she even want to know how he’d itemised that? “I’m not saying you owe me anything.” _No… you’re not saying **anything**._ “Even if you hadn’t saved _me,_ put me ahead, too. It’s gone both ways.” _We know this, say it, just say it once. Please._ “I just need you to believe me. I don’t… I… _agh_.”

Jyn went rigid into his arms, feeling him so far away from her— still.

“Why does it always have to be… tactical and strategic… keeping tabs and who saved who and it only has some sort of value in your eyes if you can quantify it against a fucking mission order?” She let out a fuming sound of frustration, slamming both hands on his chest. “Can’t you just look at _me_ for two sec! Do you want me to stay because it’s easier or because… because… _fuck_!”

He stepped back. His eyes… Goodbye, readability. Some tripwire had sprung. “ ‘Easier’ than _what?_ It doesn’t matter what I want, does it? It never has before. Fuck. Do I believe in the Force… No. I don’t. You’re right. I’m just orders. I shouldn’t have come and you should get far away from me, now.”

Jyn felt the burn of his words as clearly as if he had slapped her across the face, agonizing pain. _I don’t believe… get away from me…_ And in a world where everyone had always left her behind, being rejected by the only person she’d ever wanted would be the last blow to break the unbroken.

Jyn couldn’t take any more of it.

Eyes burning and brimmed with tears, she pushed him away and screamed at him: “But it matters to me, you fucking asshole! It _matters_ to me what you want… and if what you want is me! Can’t you just have said it once? Can’t it matter to you that I _**need**_ you to—” She stopped, choking on her ragged breathing, and tried to wipe the tears away, spiteful. The operation was unsuccessful, critical blow, making her feel like the biggest munkhead ever. “You know what, forget it. I’m not going to stay here and listen to your martyr banthashit, because guess what, my life sucks too! But you sure fucked me over when you made me fall in love with you!”

_There you go! Hope you’re happy about that— and fuck everything about you!_

Jyn was shaking on her feet, arms defensively curled around her in a desperate attempt to stop her heart from jumping out and disintegrating into dust. The breathless silence suddenly falling on the scene rang into her eardrums like thunder. They’d landed on opposite sides of the lantern room. Their fractured reflections froze with them in the lens. His thousand-lightyear stare was so much like her own. A third time, in as many minutes, everything he’d just been—spy, supplicant, soldier—fell away. That just left… someone he might not have known, either.

“What I want _is_ you,” he got out and she stopped breathing. “It… I don’t know what counts; I don’t know… if feelings can… _Pfassk…_ No. Yes. I’m in love with you, too. I don’t know if I have the right to say that. I don’t know what’s right to do. Or I do know, but I can’t do it. Oh. Skies. _No._ I don’t want you to go.”

Jyn’s lungs didn’t remember how to work. She stared at him, unmoving, dazed by the last of her anger and the words she hadn’t been able to hold back. And maybe she wished she’d said it differently, but at least it got him to say something else than _mission_ and _intel_. Everything else dissolved from her mind.

With a careful stance, Jyn walked back to him. She searched for his eyes, reflecting the golden light of the dying day, and forced herself to leap across that ocean of fears. She put back her shoulders and let everything else fall away. “My name is Jyn.”

The ocean sang around the tower.

 _“…Jyn.”_ Not an echo. He said it like the sunset. His eyes swept her face like he was mapping the name to every line; and with that, with _Nova_ and _Liana_ , _Gabrael_ and _Fulcrum_ evaporated, too. “Mine is Cassian.”

_We know. We always did._

It could never have been anything else. “Cassian,” she repeated back, her heart beating faster at how perfectly it complimented the soft gentleness he held in his gaze— at how natural it felt for her to say it like he didn’t belong to anyone else, like she had known it all along. A bracing breath _._ “I love you, Cassian.”

There were so many battles being fought in his eyes. She knew quite a few of them. But none were fought against _her._ His look at her was like… what people hung onto to get _through_ the wars. “I love _you,_ Jyn.”

She marveled at those words no one had ever said to her, discovering after all what it felt like to be chosen by someone’s heart. And because it was him, some of the sharp edges in her soul seemed to mend back together. Jyn intertwined their fingers, pulled his hand, his body, everything— to her. _And fuck the Galaxy, fuck everyone who’s not us. You don’t believe? Fine. I’ll believe for both of us, now._

He went with her, hands and bodies, all held tight, and touching his forehead to hers.

“What are we going to do?” he whispered.

Jyn rested a hand on the side of his face, eyes closed, saying the first thing that came to her mind without any hesitation. “Make love and let everyone deal with their own shit until tomorrow.”

A breath of surprise, he didn’t waste another second on. He cupped her head and met her in a kiss.

He tasted like the ocean, salt and iodine. Jyn opened to him, kissing him back and holding his neck between her palms, feeling his pulse like an extension to hers. Their chests pressed together, breath deepening. His hand, every time, ran over her like following a wave; down the curve of her back, cupping her waist. His forearm looped around to follow and he held them tight together as he started to lower them to the floor.

She went with him willingly—anticipating an instinctive reaction of panic, feeling trapped under someone else's body… but the input never flashed in her brain. ~~Gabr—~~ _Cassian_ arched apart from her just long enough to wrestle himself gracelessly out of his jacket, to bunch it up and slip it under her head. Under it… no holster. He’d come to face her unarmed. _You’re a fool_ , she thought as she pulled him back to her and kissed him repeatedly, finding the taste of him under the memory of the ocean. He kissed back like he _was_ coming up from underwater and she was the air.

Jyn whispered his name in between, so fiercely protective of the real him meeting the real her. She hugged his neck, his shoulders, his back, his arms— opened her legs and let him fall closer, pinning her to the ground in a way she didn’t fear. Her hands slid inside his collar, followed the hem, and started to unfasten the asymmetric opening of his shirt. He gathered her into himself, and he into her, pressing deep into the valley she gave him, burying his face to kiss her shoulder, her throat; always returning to her mouth with the same need to breathe.

He only moved back to help her push off his shirt. He came back to her at once, faltering but not stopping when her fingertips brushed any of his scars. Some were diagnosable, some not; all code lines finally decrypting for her to read. She wished he could have read her the same way, to show him how alike they were, how she understood and recognized the intimacy of letting her strip him down. She couldn’t show; her own scars had been removed with cosmetic surgery before the Shift sent her to Ord Mantell, making Nova Sande a credible lie. She still felt the marks on her wrists, the blade below her sternum, the burn around her neck—but this wasn’t something she could grant him access to. He seemed to sense an echo, regardless; his fingers so careful on her wrists and his lips on her neck. He’d seen one person grab her there. He didn’t need to see others. He’d subliminally noted her reaction when _he,_ half-dreaming, had done so. He devoted now to giving these parts of her gentleness and loving to oppose their having been abused and Jyn thought she could’ve died in peace right this moment.

Her hands tangled in his hair in return, nails gently tracing his scalp, then coming down to his shoulders. He tremored against her like he hadn’t while drugged, while poisoned, while dreaming. This was unviolent and far more frightening. She followed the line of his spine, down the small of his back, his skin so much warmer than her own. He felt like the sand on the beach… like the sun.

_Yes, that’s it. You’re the sun and I need you to eclipse the darkness around me._

He moved like the surf against her, both of them pulled into the tide; and the way his hand kept returning to her face and his eyes to her eyes, said, _I’ll try._

Jyn chased after his mouth, the caress of his tongue against hers to forget all about the violence of their almost-departure. It seemed so absurd to her now, thinking she had tried to persuade herself that ‘this is where you and I end’. This felt like _beginning._

His hand cupped her waist again, and this time dipped inside her clothes. He met her eyes before attentively pulling her shirt from her belt, and his hand flowed beneath. Jyn arched her back from the floor, pulling it up the rest of the way and letting it fall back somewhere nearby.

His palm came up to cup and frame her breast and he bent his head—disheveled hair still ocean-damp—to put his mouth to her there, with the same devotion he gave her everywhere. A hard breath tumbled from her lips, a new eagerness spreading under her skin, weighing her down, the map of her nerves intersecting with his body in every place he touched her. It felt so good to finally let go of any restraint, to let the fire spread, to let her body have what she craved from him. She let him kiss and lick and bite as minutes dissolved, moving under him; where she held him in her legs making his back arch, hips push, and breath groan.

Jyn was also compelled to give back to him, just as much as he gave to her, to prove the strength of her sacred words. She closed her legs around him and moved her hips, making him roll over. She straddled him back, chest flat against his torso, and dove back to kiss his neck. His shadow grazed her skin, the closer she got to his thudding pulse. With controlled gestures, she bit down on his earlobe and listened to the sound of his breathing getting stronger by the second.

Her attention to his neck flexed its tendons and drew more rewarding sounds from his throat. His fingers dug deeper into her hair, cradling her head like it was the most important casing in the Galaxy and he’d been entrusted to its care.

She slowly trailed down her lips to his collarbone, grinding her hips against him harder, enjoying the contractions of his muscles each time she kissed him or rubbed herself on him. Lower, then, mirroring his actions with perfect symmetry. His body strained to her, throat to legs.

His hands began to move down past her waist, fingers slipping under her belt—on either side of the blade holster in the small of her back. He didn’t try to remove it. Even like this, he wouldn’t disarm her _for_ her.

Jyn thought she would do him the honor. She reached behind her back to unstrap the vibroblade. It fell next to them with a distinctive ring, without either of them reacting to the (usual) cue for danger. Only a sound, from him, of remembering, and he curved away enough to reach under the cuff of his fatigues, yank off an ankle holster, and kick it, with its small blaster, away from them across the floor. (Better. Not _completely_ stupid enough to wander on Ord Mantell without defense.)

Jyn went back to her previous focus, dragging her tongue over his nipple, causing his spine to arch and fingers to grip harder on her skin. She followed the hard lines of his chest, down to his ribs, picking up the distinction of a deeper, bigger scar in the texture of his skin.

He breathed differently when she touched it, as before, but it didn’t break his attentive unfastening and removal of her belt. She waited for him to set it free before she moved to his own belt, her fingers slipping under the waistline of his pants. His turn, then, to arch up from the floor to help her, also bringing him there harder against her, and his hips stuttered and breath caught before turning it into another kiss on her breast.

Jyn softly moaned, a buzzing feeling of arousal traveling through her body, aching low between her legs— where she had her own hands busy working on his pants and feeling him hard under her touch. She stroked her palm on him, over clothes, under clothes, skin to skin, closer to the heat, a teasing and gentle pressure around him; and his face pressed harder into the slope of her neck, muffling a sound.

 _(Don’t hide. I want to hear you._ But she understood. And they had _time.)_

Her other hand tugged at the hem of his pants and underwear, letting him decide if and when she was allowed to strip him further. The answer was immediately, _yes._ He lifted himself again to her, and his hand met hers as he joined to help.

Up above, his kisses followed her ley lines from collar to behind her ear, seeking— _remembering—_ her sweetest spots. (One mere near-death experience apparently couldn’t blot out that.) Jyn tilted her head, exposing her throat to him, without stopping her hands from exploring his thighs as far as she could reach.

Sudden, unabruptly, smooth, he pulled them tight and turned them both onto their sides. He bent his body almost double, away from her, so he could tug off his fatigues without his mouth leaving her throat. Then instead of straightening himself to realign against her, his head followed his curve, kissing down her body, coming nearer where his hand finally, gently, drew off her belt. And started undoing her pants.

No power play. No reluctance. Just riveted to learn every facet and not miss a thing, so agonizingly slow and all too fast for her heart. She’d never known anything like this, never wanted anyone as much as she wanted him. Maybe he hadn’t either.

“Cassian,” she breathed, with no other purpose than saying _his_ name.

The sound of it in her voice made him shake inward, grip and pull her tighter and press a hard kiss to her stomach. Her abs contracted, a long shiver running down her spine.

Jyn curled an arm around his neck, urging him back up to meet her lips. He dragged himself along her, following her at once; he slipped his fingers under loosened fabric to her skin, dipping _in_ to finally place one gentle pad on her own hardest spot. She moved to meet his touch, so eager to ease the wanting of her searing body.

 _“Cassian,”_ she exhaled again just as he was breathing, _“Jyn.”_

_Finally. Finally._

He began to rub her, softly, sweet, circling caress, never breaking contact. His free arm swept around her again, looping her waist and pulling them tight, kissing her faster, his hard need grinding on her thigh. _But still…_ No demand. Neither of them obligated or expected. Neither of them would pressure or insist. Both of them wanted _all of this;_ undiminished if it stopped right now— _but oh gods, let me do this as long as you want it, for hours, forever…_

Jyn gasped at her own thoughts, her brain half-dazed by the lust and the searing fire building under his touch. _Forever seems nice with you._

She pushed on his shoulder, bringing his eyes at once to hers, and she said gently, “Lay back.”

Smoothing his outside hand around her thigh, keeping the inside one exactly where it was, he put his back to the floor; holding her with him, cores pressed close; lying patient and still except where his pulse pounded, above and below. Jyn enjoyed the feel of his fingers where she was wet and throbbing, a few more moments, rolling her hips over him and building up quickly towards completion—her breath started to hitch in her throat. He watched her ride him like she was deliverance from thirst, like she was the most sacred being he’d ever seen, with another exhalation of her _real_ name.

She moved back on his thighs, then, wanting to feel him inside before she could let herself go. She dragged his clothes lower with a bit of an urgency he seemed to sense as well. He pried off his boots with each other and kicked them away.

Jyn pulled away from him, finishing to undress him completely, clothes scattered all around, not without a satisfying glance at his naked body. He traced his fingertips upon her wherever he could reach, hand or knee or lock of her hair, seeming to want mutual contact even as he lay unresisting, bared to her. She recognized the level of trust he might have placed in her to let her do so—and the level of trustworthiness he wanted to have _for_ her. _Knowing you can say no is how I can trust when you say yes… Don’t do anything just for me… Don’t do anything you don’t want… What I want **is** you._ Jyn bent down and left a kiss on his thigh, her hands coming back to the heat of his body.

Her mouth near him there made his whole body move on inhale. His fingers skimmed her hair like he wasn’t sure whether to agree or draw her away. She moved her lips higher, closer, and gave him a questioning look, wondering if he liked it. His eyes on hers searched more than answered—but also shone: _I trust you._

That’s all she needed _._ Jyn parted her lips and left her next kiss on his erection, the taste of his skin pulling at her from within, making her wetter than she already was. Somewhere above, his head fell back, pulse thudding in the air, and his fingers twined soft into her hair. She listened to his voice while her tongue moved on him, beautiful struggling sounds that he obviously wasn’t used to making at all and she was _loving_ to hear; wanted to hear the full range of it. Jyn closed her fingers around his thickness and kept her lips dragging more reactions out of him. His hips started moving shallowly, keeping himself from driving hard into her, and his hand drew back from her head, not to push or hold her down. She wondered how long his restraint would last. _I want to know what it looks like when you let go._

 _“Jyn,”_ he gasped, her name still a marvel on his tongue, “hang on…” His fingers trailed down to her face, raising her eyes to his—so dilated they were almost completely black. “That’s… _amazing…_ but I’d rather…? you come up here?”

That was fine with her. Jyn kept her hand gently around him and crawled back up, kissing his body along the way. His hands cupped and sculpted every part of her as came into reach, intensely memorizing and welcoming her back to his arms.

“Stop holding back,” she whispered into his ear, sucking the delicate skin of his neck. “Please.”

His hand swept under her hair, his whole body vibrating like a taut wire. “Promise you’ll say if I should stop. Anything.”

“I promise,” she breathed and rested her nose against his. “Just don’t try to hold my neck.”

He sealed it with a kiss to her cheek. “Got it. I won’t.”

A moment’s relative stillness, eyes closed together, breathing in sync. Then he seized her in his arms, kissing her hard, turning them over to lay her back. He pushed her trousers as far down as he could without stopping, then moved his hungry kisses down to her breast to reach and pull the pants off fully. He kissed her legs, kissed longer and more fervently at their apex, up her stomach, her breasts, found her mouth again as his whole body humped her in waves. His hand flowed down her breast, her stomach, inside her thigh, fingers slick from her when he stroked at her folds. Jyn hummed her eagerness, past the point of teasing and _fingers_ , her legs around him to guide him to her. His body curved, pressing inward, his hand angling to help himself align.

No matter what they’d just said, he still whispered, “Okay?”

“I want you inside me,” Jyn urged, patience tragically frailing, “ _now_.” The sound that escaped him was deeper than any before. She loved it.

He reclaimed her lips, one hand grasping her thigh, his other taking and placing himself against her, currents joining, a cresting wave, wetting them with themselves and one another; and he _parted_ her there and— _not sharply,_ excruciatingly slow yet somehow not restrained, like it was exactly what _he_ most wanted to follow her clenches and flows—slipped and pushed inside of her.

Jyn let out a breathless moan, gripping his skin, curving her back to him. She thought she had an extended understanding of sex, practical, methodic; she knew what pleasure felt like for herself, had some, even, a few times. Not with men ( _gods, never with men_ ), but it had always been more of mutual comfort, physical, rather than the overwhelming need she had to connect with him any way she could. She was surprised to experience some things she hadn't felt before, or their lack of: the lack of resistance from her body, the lack of resignation, the lack of any pain or discomfort. Being so turned on that the stretch of his presence only eased the burn of all that _need_. All so new and thrilling sensations to discover into his arms. _Make me love sex, my love._

Jyn settled her hips against him, drawing him deeper, the right angle, the right fit, and couldn’t hold back— “Fuck, you feel so good.” _Okay, Jyn Erso, romance is dead._

Cassian obviously didn’t think it was. What his voice did at her words was earthtilting and had her name like a prayer.

He wrapped her close, with one hand cupping her beneath to urge her upon him. His hand mirrored every time she gripped him, pushing and supporting, equal and opposite impulsion. In front, he labored into her, pulling himself off inside her like she gave him relief from pain. This wasn’t wholly abandoned, even now; but not tentative either. It was fervent. Every ambrosial millimeter sliding him in her. His own stimulation wasn’t all he wanted for himself. Like few she’d ever known, he _truly wanted **her**_ pleasure, too. Every reaction he found in her seemed to ignite him to draw more, and where there was no difference in his treatment of _her,_ _there_ was the requested abandon: in his treatment of _himself._ Her reactions unlocked and intensified his own, and now he actually expressed and followed them. _More. Give me, let me give you, more and more oh go on go on_

Jyn met his thrusts, nails digging in the moist skin of his back, pressing harder, looking for him to surrender his remains of control. Her shallow breathing turned into persistent moaning, letting him push back into her, hard body sliding over her and hitting places she couldn’t reach herself— still shocked, still unsure at how good it felt to be with him.

“I can’t believe we didn’t do that the first night,” she groaned. “Would have saved us so many headaches, ah—”

Her breath caught in her throat, struggling to speak when all of her nervous terminations were flooded with so much stimulation, both inside and out.

“No,” he managed to breathe, shaping the words another caress of his lips upon her, chest surging with heartbeat and breath; “this is _ours._ No one else’s. Our terms. Just us.”

And of course, he was right, she hadn’t meant it like that—but it felt so comforting to hear it from him. His voice stopped as he filled his mouth with her pulse, soft and tender on her neck that he knew now to be so vulnerable, yet she gave him anyway, and for a few moments, he could only kiss her and struggle to breathe while his body bent and doubled forward with its need.

Then his lips were at her ear, breathing again—this time, free from conflict. _“I love you.”_

The way his accent delivered the words to her made her shake, maybe hard enough for him to notice. Jyn locked her arms around his shoulders, holding him down to her, never wanting to let him go again. Her head fell back, brows drawn together as her face transcribed the full dimension of all those feelings pulling her under.

“Cassian,” she rumbled in low whispers, not making sense of her words, “it was so cold without you. It was… where have you been… Cassian… I love you.”

His arms tightened strong and hard around her, like by pulling into each other, they could fill all the years, all the worlds, all the hollows where coldness fell. His mouth returned to hers, hands holding her below as he moved in her above, keeping her core the equilibrium, the _fulcrum_ of them.

Then, out of nowhere, he stopped his movement and pulled back his head to look into her eyes. His were flooded by the starscape he seemed to find in hers. He didn’t say it again… just drinking her in, and smiled in that tiny way he had that this time was so _real_ it tipped the planet. Jyn’s heart nearly stopped.

He lowered his face to hers once more and began to move again, somewhere between surrendering to his own need and joining with hers. She was so close to tip over, the warmth of his body everywhere around her, inside her, making it so easy to connect the wires. Jyn planted her heels on the floor, her thighs contracting around him, and she was back to cursing in Mid-Rimean dialects. His silent laugh rippled through her. He ducked in, temple damp and pulse pounding against her, seeming to redouble his efforts to make her curse some more. (Blast, thinking _she_ was supposed to have seen it all.) She stopped cursing and moaned his name instead, repeatedly, until she couldn’t speak at all. His moving inside her, her moving him into her, their moving together, harder, smoother, _following each other,_ _together, oh there please—_

Jyn’s back arched from the ground, her legs caging him in, coming so hard that all of her surroundings blacked out.

He caught her at the height of arc, held her to him and eased her back. He held and kissed her through her tremors, floating back down.

His stilled body thudded in hers, jolting with her contractions. He let her crest and flow upon him, the shore to her waves.

Until finally he couldn’t take more and managed to whisper, “Jyn… Can I—?”

Still lost somewhere between physical planes, deprived of any senses that wasn’t his rapid breathing on her skin and the way she contracted around him, Jyn turned her face towards his voice. “Come inside me.”

_Ours. Just us. Inside…_

All his muscles seized, with his most unrestrained vocalization. He doubled into her… She would never have enough of his voice morphing like that, for her. It bent him over, pulling through him, pouring into her, a star exploding and pulsing down.

He folded boneless upon her, shifting himself by instinct or a last gasp of control to not put his weight where it would impede her breathing or make her hurt. And where he was still in her, she felt all of it, throbbing out of him, moving him inside her while the rest of him sank limp; hot and shifting and flowing, into her there. _The right kind of warm._

His ragged breathing had her name like a song. Jyn listened, heart pounding, body shaking, still unsure where the world had gone.

They came down together. Feeling themselves and each other unmoored into the night. The sound in their ears either their own flowing blood or the faintly returning surrounding sea.

When she opened her eyes, at last, she blinked into the starry sky. His head had fallen to rest on the floor beside hers, his profile tracing her cheek. Jyn looked at him. His warm eyes opened to greet her and the infinite of the skies suddenly meant nothing if she couldn’t stare at him forever.

Riding down the rush of ecstasy, a violent and brutal wave pulled her away from the shore. Jyn’s heart tightened in fear, as if it was never going to beat again. She spasmed against him, desperately trying to steal time by holding him close—for she knew the moment they would stop holding each other, the current would drown her again. A choking plea moved her lips and she cupped his face, which now wore an intensely worried frown as he searched her eyes.

“We can go away,” Jyn whispered. “Just you and me… We can go to Halcyon and be different people, start everything over.”

But as she talked, she watched his eyes unwillingly darken, leaving the bliss behind.

“I want to go somewhere there’s no darkness,” she begged, unaware of the tears in her eyes. “I want to go somewhere and be with you.”

“Oh—Star—Jyn…” He grabbed her with his whole body, kissing her face, hearts thudding together, trying to synchronize again. He cupped her head and kissed off her tears, but his pounding heart was as much a caged thing as hers.

“I want to go with you,” he whispered. “I want to so much…”

The tightening of his muscles may have been self-directed. It still unsealed him from her. And no matter how gently, naturally, reluctantly, his body falling out of hers was another distance restored. “I can’t,” he whispered, with a break. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’d be abandoning my partner. Those prisoners would die. I’m… my life… isn’t mine. To give.”

But he suddenly put his hands to either side of her face, eyes searching hard, trying to recapture the connection between them. Jyn didn’t try to stop the tears, knowing the battle was already lost. She clenched to him with all the force she had. He held her as fiercely back, his breath slowing but his heart continuing to pound.

“If we have to keep going through the darkness,” he said, voice rolling through them both, “can we do it together? And if you have to leave… I hope you could… I don’t know when but I swear I’d try to follow you.”

“Promise you’ll remember me,” she breathed, “you’ll remember _us_.”

 _“I’m never forgetting.”_ He held her head to his throat as it constricted. “But I’d rather _stay_ with you than just _remember._ We can figure this out. I’m still gonna try. Yes?”

She gave him a sorrowful smile, pulling a hard breath from her chest. “The optimistic one… but even you can’t fight this war on your own, my love.”

He kissed her head, every fiber of him struggling. “…We’re the ones who walk in the grey. There’s so much more than people think. We’re not the same side but we’re not opposites. We just disagree on methods, not goals. That’s…” A heartbeat. “We’ve set extraction in four days. Give me those days. To see if something _is_ possible. Please. If not…” …but it was clear he had no end to that sentence.

“Four days,” Jyn said—barely stomaching the lie to the price of her sanity. He believed her… or he needed to.

They held close and breathed together in the dead, empty lighthouse, listening to the surrounding sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ❤️❤️❤️ 
> 
> Thank you for reading, leave us a comment? :)


	13. Tilt Erosion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **tilt erosion** _(astronomy)_ the gradual reduction of the obliquity of an orbiting satellite due to tidal interactions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ⚠️ CW: mention of (forced) sterility
> 
> At the same time, bit of a (relative) breather before climbing back on the rollercoaster :) Hope you enjoy!

**13: Tilt Erosion  
  
  
**

**  
** They lay curled together, holding each other against the cold. The sound of the ocean washed soft around the broken tower.

Cassian’s eyes were closed against Jyn’s neck. (Wonderment at her name. _Jyn. Of course._ He wondered if it was short for anything, in honor of anyone, if he’d get to learn.) The breeze stirred her hair on his face. He felt her breathing through her back against his chest, their hands clasped in front of hers. He could measure breath and pulse to know when someone was sleeping but was having a hard time telling if she was. —if _he_ was. The dead lighthouse was cold and they lay on the floor without any blanket except each other. It was _each other_ that allowed sleep at all.

_I love you_

How had he ever said that?—he didn’t believe in—he knew how little—how an organic body like all other systems was rigged—how many things could be mistaken for—could he accept or trust— _what is does it how dare i can i still when so many when given up when can’t_

On his own, he could have wanted to, meant it to the core of the planet and out the other side, but not said it. He could because she did. It was like a path he’d wanted to walk his whole life. For himself, he could never step onto it. Then she was standing on it, giving her hand, and let him step up beside her, as she went where he’d also always needed to go. _No need to fall. Catch or jump together._

What now?

He’d gone to Mannett Point straight from his sickbed and made all arrangements before contacting Kaytoo. Cassian wasn’t going to give the Mantellians a sign he was leaving. The best he could do for the exfiltration was keep everything else quiet. With or without the med leave, he literally had nothing he needed to do.

 _I want to go somewhere where there’s no darkness_ —There was nowhere without darkness. Even if they could find a tiny portion spared, it would still be out there hurting everyone else. He couldn’t live with himself, not fighting that. The fight was all that let him outlive.

 _Be with you_ —She couldn’t know, though. He hadn’t given her enough ‘him’ to really choose. He supposed the reverse, too: there would be things about her that she wouldn’t expect _him_ to choose.

He pressed his lips to her skin, breathing her scent, matching breaths. He hated how cold she was where they didn’t touch. He could have suggested they go somewhere, but they both knew, the moment they moved from this spot, _something next_ would begin. They couldn’t control that or predict it enough to trust.

_You let a crack in the casement. Try to fire, the barrel explodes. You can’t afford to explode. Can it be sealed back up? Should it be?_

Later. Four days. Let him take them with Jyn. However many, however much she gave him. Take them as an end in themselves and be abjectly grateful for the rest of his miserable life. _Our actions are never unmade._ This always had happened.

But also try like to hell to think them out of this, in case they really could. _What I want is you._

_Try. Let me try._

Either he slept without realizing or his thoughts filled/shrank the night. When he lifted his eyes to the horizon of her hair, through the broken panes…

He whispered in her ear, “Jyn. Sunrise.”

A muffled sound answered him. Jyn moved between his arms, turning over to face him. She opened her eyes, still veiled, still heavy, and scanned his with an intensity he had rarely encountered. “Yes,” she breathed, touching the side of his face with feather-light fingers. “You’re here…” She almost sounded like she hadn’t expected it, or was still half-walking into sleep. “It’s you,” she said.

“It’s me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Jyn hummed her approval, digging herself into his embrace. Something must have hit her mind, then, because she reared back and asked: “How did you find me?”

At a loss, he loosened his hold to search her face. “What?”

“The lighthouse, I never told you.”

Oh. “You said Breakwater district. I started at the quays where we’d gone, looking for where _I’d_ make a cache. And I remembered what you said about the dark.”

“I’ve gone very sloppy since I met you,” she said in a low voice, but her tone wasn’t irritated— he dared to think of it as an almost joke.

“I may have you beat,” he murmured, relieved. “My multiple public scenes. Lucky that’s fashionable here.”

She offered a mocking laugh. “I enjoyed some of it…”

“Thank the Force for that.” He moved closer to her again, running his hands on her skin. “You’re cold. Should we—?”

“Dress, move, fuck? Whichever are you suggesting?”

He almost laughed. “—um… go somewhere warmer.”

Her eyes flashed with almost-pain. “I’m not ready to leave.” She looked away from him, toward the window. He was still trying to think of a response when she said, “The water’s shallow here. It’s really warm. Maybe not as much, first thing in the morning, but…”

He hugged her and released. “I like it. Let’s go.”

She sat up and gathered her clothes, quickly fastening belt and buttons and boots. He felt impatient getting dressed just to take it back off… He considered just dropping his things through the window and onto the beach. But his stealth reflexes couldn’t stand for that. He started gathering his things to dress, too. Jyn flashed him a grin, sliding a blade down her ankle with an automatic gesture. “I’ve got an escape rope if you don’t feel like climbing down the way you went up. I must say… I’m impressed, for someone that—” She brutally dropped her speech, her face so extremely pale.

“That what?” When she didn’t respond, he hazarded, “—that should be in med bay?”

“I almost killed you,” she said, her voice so blank it was terrifying.

He held out his hand. “You saved me. He’s the one who made the switch. Any other assassin, I would’ve been collateral.”

Jyn grabbed his hand, more firmly than she needed to get up. “I don’t know how I could’ve lived with myself if… Not you. Not because of me.”

Throat thick, he said softly, “I know.” He closed his hand on hers to warm them both. “But I’m fine. Really. I might have soup for all meals today, but…” She gave a weird sad laugh, looking at him like he was out of his mind. (Fair comment.) He cleared his throat. “Actually, do you have a canteen up here?”

“Yes. I’ve got water and a bunch of nutripills. We can find real food later if you want.”

“Water would be great.” Between the search, the sex, and the cold, he realized he was parched. Jyn let go of his hand to search her bags. He glanced over while pulling on his own clothes, and couldn’t help but notice the suspicious amount of blank masters waiting to be forged among her things.

“Here,” she said, holding out a bottle. He forced himself to drink slowly. He succeeded in getting a good amount and offered it back to her.

She drank some of it, too, and scanned the perimeter, looking to the ground, as he finished getting dressed. “I’ll go first and make sure you don’t crack your head open.”

 _You’ll catch me if I fall?_ It died on his lips, remembering their dance. (All their dances.)

With the same grace she had demonstrated in her evening gown, Jyn pushed her legs above the ledge of the platform and lowered herself down, gripping pieces of durasteel along the way. Cassian followed. He heard the sound of her boots on the ground, where she let herself fall the rest of the way, a few minutes before he joined her. For a few moments, they stood face to face, and he suddenly wanted to grab her and… _For kark’s sake, you just came outside._ He nodded instead. “Lead the way?”

She brushed his arm in response and headed towards the quays, getting around the area entirely, to guide them past the bigger warehouses lining the waterfront. Walking on the white sand, the scraps pulled from the sea by maritime currents got more sparse the further they went, replaced by some species of seashells Cassian had never seen. The sun was barely up in the sky when Jyn started to strip down again, her hair falling loosely on her back. Cassian moved behind her and sifted his fingers into her hair, gathering it off her neck, then kissing her there. Her skin shivered and she exhaled a bit louder. Her hands reached back to get a hold on his hips, leaning onto him.

“Let’s get a swim,” she said, knocking her boots off and leaving weapon behind.

He pressed one more kiss to the side of her neck as he slipped off his jacket. He stripped off and stowed his things, not believing it was just yesterday that he’d also done this. He turned toward Jyn—and gazed, drinking in the sight of her body against the sky, in a way he hadn’t been able to just look at her while they tangled in the dark.

“See something you like?” she smirked.

He growled complimentary curses in several languages, moving to her and placing a hand to her side. His eyes followed his palm running over her hip. But he stopped with a quick smile, meeting her eyes.

Jyn walked back to the waterfront, pulling his hand. “Come on, handsome.” Coming from her, he didn’t reject the word. The water hadn’t been warmed by a day’s sun, but Jyn’s presence evened out the chill. She quickly disappeared underwater, coming back right up, hands on her hair and a look of satisfaction on her face. Cassian didn’t want to lose sight of her. For _his_ sake.

Jyn swam back to him, easily closing her arms around his neck and pulling herself to him, the weight of her body suspended between the waves. “Cassian…” she said, her nose touching his, “I really like your name.” Her lips teased a light kiss. “I really like that you let me say it.” And kissed him fully, lovingly, like only she knew how to kiss him.

Only she _did._ He reciprocated, arms around her to keep her near while still letting her float. She was free and weightless and _choosing_ to stay moored to him. He leaned back on his heels in the sand, and let himself be more upheld by the water, too; giving her more of him to press herself to. “I like yours, too. And that you chose to tell it to me.”

“Remember the real me,” she whispered, almost covered by the sound of the waves breaking on the beach.

That chill into his bones again. _Remember…_ A word about _future,_ which he was trying not yet to face.

She rested her head on his shoulder, tracing his jawline with her thumb. Then: “When I was a kid, I asked my father to build me a boat.” A little laugh moved her chest, only half happy. “We didn't have resources to waste on this, but he built a little one for my toys instead. I was mad for awhile at first… I regret it now, how stupid I was… not knowing what I had while it lasted.”

Another wave.

“I learned that lesson.”

He moved a hand through the water to where her hair drifted and flowed. “You were a child. Children _should_ be able to…” take things for granted, be stupid, not know everything at once “…be children.”

“I wish so many had the chance…” she said, her eyes reflecting something dark and painful, for Cassian to wonder if she was talking about someone in particular—which he might already know about. Jyn looked away for a few minutes, into the sunrise. Drops of water pearled on her wet lips as she kept her arms around him, letting the waves gently pull them in and out of each other. Then, finally: “I won’t have any children, and most of the time, I think I won’t live long enough to have any sort of family… but if I did, I would make sure children could be children.”

“I—” They weren’t really a sex worker and a government agent; but, in posing as them, (in a sufficiently equipped city,) they both would be protected against just about any infection or communicable… anything. But… _I should tell you._ Even speaking to a future neither of them could afford to focus on (now, ever). “—’m the same. I made sure I couldn’t.”

A rigid tension ran down her back, in the same way her body always reacted when she anticipated a physical threat. It didn’t last long. She forced her shoulders to unlock and looked at him, her green eyes full of secrets and old wounds. “You didn’t want to leave anyone behind, did you?”

How immediately and precisely she _got_ that was heart-stopping. It made Cassian almost start shaking, with his own past—but then also made it feel even more urgent to be able to parse the rest of her reaction. “Yes. And…” Always _how or whether to say aloud_ —Pfassk it. “If I have to serve… I can’t… risk something I would choose over service.”

Jyn looked at him for an awful lot of time without a sound, but somehow, her eyes softened. “I understand,” she finally said, “I don’t think I could’ve done the same thing… but they chose for me, anyway. So I guess we’re left as the same in the end, you and me.”

_Mradhemuckhut’unndi’kutverred’nNockashunfafeke— Chose **for** you?!_

The Shift were the people, the cause, Jyn was as dedicated to as Cassian was to the Alliance. He shouldn’t curse them out or challenge too hard. But—

“They had no right,” he said in a growl. “Mine was my own choice. But no cause can demand that of its soldiers.”

Surprise moved her brows higher, but her face quickly settled back into a darker expression. “No, not the Shift. I meant… when I was on Verisin—” Something heavy weighted on her, making it excruciating for the words to come out. “I told you I was trafficked, for a few years, the Tenloss Syndicate… well, guess what, they didn’t want any extra mouth to feed.”

_… … … … Fuck_

Cassian touched his fingers to her face, brushing back her wet hair. “The absolute _fucks,”_ he said quietly. “Sith take them all. I’m so sorry.”

“I’m glad a good chunk of them were shredded to pieces by Shifters’ bombs. I only wish it would have been more painful.”

 _I was sixteen… The person that saved me—_ The Shift. How could he fault that? The Shift had gotten her out from under Tenloss. On the other hand… it was a similar bottom line, how Cassian had come to the CIS. With what he knew now… if he hadn’t been desperate, in need of salvation, or been old enough to understand and really choose…

_When **aren’t** we in need? How much can we **ever** choose?_

_—Why are you even helping him? Do you know what he’s done—?_

Skies, Force, he didn’t want to put them back into opposition. Not in this peaceful place, where she’d just opened up so much already. But if he was going to have a chance figuring anything out, he did need to understand. “Is that why you need White Snake dead?” (Preparing to release his hold on her when she inevitably pulled away.) “He’s been a slaver?”

Jyn got back on her feet, in need of her full capacity of movements for that conversation.

“Present tense,” she corrected harshly. “He’s been a floater under Black Sun for years, but his market is not spice. He’s using his position to operate under radar, knowing that coming after him is coming after the Burke’s and no one is stupid enough to do that. Until the wind started to blow the other way around. My guess is that the Empire wants to flush him out, and you guys have probably offered immunity for his insights… but that will condemn so many people to die. So many more than you think…”

Part of Cassian wanted to go back to shore to sit down. Part of him wondered if this conversation was only happening because they were in this liminal space, loose in the vastness. The water now just felt buffeting. Cassian hadn’t been told why White Snake wanted immunity. Only what he was offering in exchange. _Did you know? Why didn’t you tell me?_ But could he claim innocence when of _course_ reasons were always going to be along these lines…?

“As just one man?” The question was genuine, not defensive. “Taking him out will be more effective against the trade than using his intel against the whole group?”

“You don’t understand…” Jyn evidently pondered against continuing. “I’ve spent the last year around the Burke’s Trailing, seeing with my own eyes what’s at play here. If you unbalance the power, if you force Black Sun to surrender their monopoly, the Empire will have full autonomy. The mining on Jedha— fuck, I really shouldn’t be telling you this.” She pushed her hands in her hair, conflict burning in her eyes. “Sometimes, you need the lesser of two evils.”

Cassian abruptly frowned. “You know something about the mining on Jedha?” That was one of the very pieces of intel they needed to protect and retrieve from—

“As I said,” Jyn carefully answered, “I was on Jedha… and right now, Black Sun is the only thing keeping those people from starving to death while the Empire is running dry the planet.”

“Do we know _why_ the Empire is draining the planet?” The word _we_ came automatically and, now, accurately: everyone who wasn’t the Empire. “They’ve been revving acquisitions, especially mineral extraction, to the limit. They’re preparing something. Big. That’s what we wanna know. If it’s a new fleet of Star Destroyers, or even just bulking up the weapons they already have… trying to alleviate the pressure on Jedha now might just be palliating a symptom while allowing disease to progress.”

“Your symptom—” she growled, her voice menacing, “are children like Nor and Thaeo being forced to eat dirt because there’s nothing else to eat! What’s the point of winning a war if everybody is already fucking _dead_?”

“If losing means the Empire will exterminate Nor and Thaeo and all nonhumans outright! They—” Stop. Calm down. He took a breath through his nose, playing back. Something else she’d said… “You said the Empire will achieve dominance without Black Sun in its way. But what if, without Black Sun, the others could rally under a different banner?”

“Like what?” she snorted. “Alliance? You can’t even accept people that share your beliefs because of their methods… but you want to rally spice cartels? I guess it’s only bad when the violence comes from Separatists, right?”

He opened his mouth to retort… and closed it, almost biting his tongue.

“You’re right,” he said after a moment. “That’s something I’ll raise to them. But… look at us. We’re both here. On the same planet, in the same city, with the same pfassking target. How differently can the Shift and the Alliance be operating if they’re sending similar agents to the same spot?”

“We all want to fuck the Empire over,” Jyn cynically commented. “We just don’t operate with the same rules of engagement.”

 _So maybe this is our chance to…_ The thought tapered out. Chance to what? Ally? The two of them become the bridge that could unify Alliance and Shift? That still didn’t solve what to do about White Snake, a conflict which could kill any such alliance before it started. And was he just thinking, again, along personal lines?

 _This is why,_ he reprised her earlier question, bleakly. _Not leave anyone behind. But also not let myself want. Objectivity is killed by ‘want’. If I start prioritizing anything over the cause, I stop operating from what **is** , what I want to actually happen, and instead…_

“Back where we started,” he mumbled finally. “But I understand a little more, I think.”

Jyn closed her eyes, water reaching her shoulders. “I don’t need you to agree with me,” she confessed, “but know that I’m doing what I think must be done.”

“I know,” he answered, identically unhappy. “Me, too.”

“I know.”

He followed her lead and closed his eyes. He attempted to let his mind, as before, be carried by the waves to the vaster whole. Out past his own untrustworthy head and fallible heart.

“Still four days,” he said finally. “The first one’s barely started.” If they kept up at this rate, they’ll crack it, or they’ll explode.

“I probably shouldn't have told you any of this,” Jyn sighed, “but if you can understand… I keep thinking that maybe— in another life, you still would have loved the real me.”

The waves suddenly couldn’t touch him. He stood still and cold. “You still think… you don’t think my… you think I only want you, love you, for the pfassking mission?”

“No… I think there isn’t much of me left outside of this fight… and when I asked you…” She looked away again, her hand moving above water like she wanted to teach a rhythm of her own to the currents. “What’s the point thinking about maybes, I’m stupid.”

A moment of submerged hearts thudding. Then he reached just shy of touching her face. “I shouldn’t have thought that. I’m sorry. You’re not stupid. And…” Feke, why couldn’t he articulate anything? Had he ever been able to karking speak without objective? “…I haven’t thought about _me, outside this fight,_ in years. I wish I knew who that was, better, to give you now. But I think… whoever that is… recognized you. Whoever you are, no matter how much they’ve tried to steal. I think I see it. And I… feel, like you do, too.”

She placed her face into his hand. “I see you,” she said, “whoever you are is who I want.”

He cupped her face where she led him, running his thumb gently to trace under her eye. “Jyn,” he said, not because he had anything else to tell her, not to communicate anything; just an anchor, for them both; the gift and the revelation of something real. _(I want more. I want the rest. Your full name, what language it’s from, who gave it to you, your life story, the time to learn all of it. But I’m grateful to have any of it at all.)_

“I haven’t told that name to anyone since I was sixteen,” Jyn said. “It’s like I haven’t been myself for so long… only with you.”

 _I’m nineteen years old._ Three years of nobody saying her real name. Whatever else Cassian had gone through and had taken from him and done, he’d still had someone, the CIS then the Alliance, knowing (sometimes telling him) who he was.

Cassian closed some of the space between them, led by her leaning to his hand, and pressed a kiss to her hair. “Jyn,” he repeated, and repeated it again after kissing her forehead, a closed eyelid, a cheek. She pressed herself against his chest, her feet over his.

“I want to have this forever,” she whispered, tilting her head back, “even if forever is just one second with you.”

He touched his forehead to hers, “So do I.”

Jyn slightly moved to kiss him, her arms closing around his shoulders. The water made it effortless to disregard any height difference, and to hold her too. He wrapped his arms around her, palms charting shoulder blades and the shifting muscles of her back, wondering again at how little she was when there was so much of her. He kissed the curve of her shoulder and neck—always seeking one another’s corners and empty spaces to warm and fill. She tangled her fingers into his wet hair, kissing back just as much as she could reach of him. He wasn’t sure… should he school his actions, not cross lines, make sure nothing threatened to be a requirement, or even necessarily component, of the fact of love…? At the same time, skies, the feel of her, and what she seemed to feel from him… as his hands ran worshipful over her body, filling themselves with her.

She gave a little sound of encouragement, kissing harder, caressing his tongue and letting him taste salt over her lips. “Maybe we should go somewhere else after all…”

Right. Yes. He forced himself to pull his focus a little from her and his body’s stirring reaction. The idea of making love in the ocean was great, but the reality had issues, mostly at her expense.

“Want to play tourists?” he finally dared to ask. “No Parallel, no deepdock, no Nova, no Gabrael. We can go anywhere. Get a room elsewhere in the city. Or outside of it, even. I’m officially on medical leave. What do you think? Can you get away?”

He hadn’t known what reaction to expect, but it wasn’t the brightness of her green eyes with no hesitation at all. “Yes, let’s go to Savroia.”

He kissed her, and impulsively caught her in his arms and lifted her in a hug almost out of the water. He set her back down, feeling ridiculous but also— _You’ve never had this and never will again. And everyone should. Once in their lives. She should._

“We don’t even have to go back, now,” he said. “We can buy anything we need when we get there.”

“I always travel light, anyway,” she smirked. “We only need to find a ride.”

He ran memorized transit charts, suggested a route, and she confirmed. As they walked ashore and got dressed, it was inevitable he’d consider the mission. This time, it was favorable. He wasn’t worried about such charges showing up on Willix’s expense account. As the asshole had said, he’d already made a very public show of being… yeah. Pfassk it. In love. Anyone paying attention to this behavior, on med leave, would laugh it off and downgrade their notion of Willix’s level of competence, and thus threat. Nor anticipate that he would soon cease to exist.

Four days, in an anonymous room somewhere they could sink into a bed and cocoon one another and be… no one… or maybe themselves.


	14. Blueshift

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **blueshift** _(astronomy)_ a phenomenon where electromagnetic radiation (such as light) from an object undergoes a decrease in wavelength.

**14: Blueshift**

  
  
  
Savroia: the closest significant city to Worlport, leaving the southern shore and the sandy beach to climb into volcanic mountain chains, lodged between rocky islands and farming terraces. Without a direct spaceport, and only accessible through the land, the place hosted another type of crowd—and the Imperial presence was confined to the occasional ’troopers’ patrol. Mountain people were seclusive and way more hostile to the Occupation than their neighbors, heritage of the first waves of Mantellian Separatists that had taken refuge on Mount Avilatan during the civil war. As such, Savroia had gained a reputation of its own and welcomed travelers in need of anonymity.

Few of the buildings even had address markers, let alone any signage. The ethos in Savroia was: _If you don’t already know where you are, you shouldn’t be here._ But Jyn had her methods and found a small establishment renting rooms above a street shop, on the outer circle of the city. No name asked and she paid the tenant—a humanoid with bright purple hair—with her own stash of credits. It only felt appropriate to reinvest some of the money she had gathered from their first encounter. The last thing Jyn wanted was for Cassian to _buy_ her company again.

Her own sensitivity surprised her; she thought she had long lost the capacity to care about who paid for her time. But, as she discovered that day, Jyn _did_ care about trivial technicalities like this one, now that feelings… _love…_ were involved.

These issues could never mix. Not with him.

This wasn’t part of the job— _any of her jobs._ This time with him (that she knew she didn’t deserve, didn’t have the right to take or the right to lie for) was only between them.

The room was small, clean, all mute colors except for a loud patterned blanket spread on a double bed, next to a rounded window. Jyn discarded her travel bag on the ground and, although she didn’t mean to, her back slouched against the closed door for a moment… convincing herself, compartmentalizing times and places. _This might be the most selfish you have ever been._

Cassian had entered and done the same automatic survey of any new environment that Jyn knew so well. Now, he stood by the window. Looking out at the mountains, his stance and expression were nicer than ‘haunted’, more intense than ‘admiring’. Her stillness seemed to catch his attention more than any sounds of movement. He turned back to her. “How are you doing?”

“Fine,” she forced herself to smile. “I need to take a shower.”

Pushing herself upright, Jyn managed to step off her boots and unroll the scarf from her shoulders. She kept her attention focused on the task at hand, stripping from her clothes while her brain quietly settled down. Ironically enough, being naked in front of him wasn’t a point of contention. But the _feeling_ that anything she could do might have been something she was _intended_ to—

Jyn forcibly exhaled, frustrated. That sucked on so many levels. But then, she found something that would set everything apart. “Wanna share?”

He’d turned away, not to ogle her while she undressed. Clearly, he’d picked up on her sense of conflict. At the invitation, though, he turned to her again, corners of his mouth tugging toward a smile. “Very much.” He sat across from her on the bed, started to remove his own shoes, but looked at her sidelong. “You’ll tell me if there’s anything you want me to… do, or not… or do differently. Okay?” —Not asking her to tell him everything she was thinking and feeling; just if there was something he could affect.

“I just want you to be yourself,” she said, this time with a smile she didn't have to force. He returned it, reached over to touch her hand, then got back to work undressing himself. “And maybe scrub my back,” Jyn added to lighten the mood while she walked to the water room. Behind her, he joked something about _anywhere she wanted_.

The shower was different from Worlport. There were no walls, just a drain down the tiled floor and a tank of water above her head. Jyn put her hand first, tentatively turning a valve to see if she had the luxury of some warm water to rinse the dried salt from her skin. More lukewarm than anything, but the air wasn’t cold enough for it to be unpleasant. (Definitely warmer than their morning swim.) Jyn stepped under the water and let it soak her hair, dripping down her whole body.

Cassian came in at last, closing the door behind him to keep in the steam. He stood aside for some moments, just watching her, with the same warm wonderment as he had against the sunrise. …Earlier, too. Had he looked at her like that, like no one else ever had, since they met…?

“Still willing to share?” he asked.

On the one hand: _seriously,_ didn’t he know by now how she’d answer? On the other hand… it did something to her heart, how much it _mattered_ to him: her consent, every time, especially in the face of a universe and most beings in it that didn’t care _._

“ _K'olar_ ,” Jyn said. She grabbed one of the colored little cubes stacked on a wooden shelf, trying to determine if she wanted to smell like honey for the rest of her life, and started to rub the soap on her arms.

Grinning: _“Elek, alor.”_ He stepped in softly behind her. His hands came up and folded over hers. It felt so… comfortable, un-urgent… how could they ever think this was too quick or too soon or wouldn’t last, when this was so natural and obvious… _?_ He bent his head to suggest by her ear, “Let me?”

She nodded her agreement, weirdly compelled by the idea of someone doing something so innocent to her. Even more when she knew he wasn’t trying to obtain some favors from her. Only him… being himself, like she had asked.

Cassian brushed a kiss to her cheek as he transferred the cube from her fingers to his, filling his palms so they were what touched her. She looked up, only catching sight of his profile, while he attentively brushed a strong-scented foam on her skin; covering the expanse and slopes of her back down to her waist, curving over her shoulders, down her arms from behind; especially gentle, briefly, on her neck, before trailing down her collar bones. He gently urged her to turn to face him. With a… playfulness few could have ever seen, he traced foam across her forehead and cheeks and down her nose, before delicately washing it off. Then, more solemnly, he moved down her body. His dark, intent eyes and softly flowing hands gave her breasts no more attention than he did her shoulders or ribs. Then he knelt before her to start down her legs. His eyes flickered… _(mischievous?!)_ to her when he urged her to lift each foot and washed her soles, managing not to be too terribly ticklish. As he started his way back up, his eyes came to hers again, to see if she wanted to take over for the last place, or if he should finish. When she smiled, with the same insense, precise gentleness, he did so.

 _Wow,_ trilled some dying remnant of archness in Jyn’s fast-melting mind. _This might count as a marriage ceremony on Farhava Beta._

After that little show, Jyn was way less interested in washing than doing other activities. She still spent some minutes taking care of her hair, turning into a full baked honeycrust. “Your turn,” she asked, a smirk at the corner of her mouth. He stole a kiss to her thigh and stood again, tall but not looming before her, and held out the cube.

She took her time, mapping the lines and curves of his body, making sure to be as efficient as he had been. She moved behind him, dancing around to keep them under the shower stream, and pressed her hands on his back, running up and down until she caught his shoulders. Her thumbs dug harder, below his neck, over his shoulder blades, on each side of his spine. He arched backwards to her, baring his throat to the water stream. His back unknotted under her hands. Jyn kept the pressure of her fingers as her hands went down, to his waist, over his hips. She kissed the space between his shoulders, where the salt had been replaced by a sweeter taste. He tilted a little more to her, in reply.

She gently scratched her nails on his skin and kissed again. “Can I touch you?”

He used Mando’a again, as she’d started. On Coruscant, that language had become an emblem of ancient or underground forces that had survived outside Republic and Empire. Maybe it was because _they_ were now outside the city, outside their allegiances, outside the politics, missions, and games. Maybe for the deeper and more ancient way, just for this moment, they’d chosen to follow. Maybe simply a kind of shyness. Or (yes, this was it) reiterating how (over and over) they met and matched each other. _“ ’lek, cyar’ika.”_

Whyever; Jyn loved to be called ‘love’ in any language if it was with his voice.

She slid her hands over his chest, holding him close, her body pressed against him. _So much warmer than water._ She left caresses over him with a gentle touch, her fingers easily gliding on the soapy residue, and moved down, analyzing his reactions. His neck and spine yielded in fractions to the magnetic pull, to face her, but he didn’t turn; giving her his back while she chose it. Between people like them, habituated to combat and betrayal, letting someone stay fully behind you was as strong a sign of trust as you could show.

Jyn rested her head against him, her fingers curling over his hips, his groin, the shiver of his skin spreading to her every place they touched. She filled her lungs with the smell of his clean body, moving her wrist with a soft motion and feeling his pulse in her hand. He’d shown an ability to control his autonomic reflexes, somewhat. Now, he wasn’t trying or had completely lost it. He so quickly hardened to fill her hand. His tilt back put a little of his weight on her—not enough to burden, enough to show (always) _trust._ One of his hands reached over his own shoulder to brush his fingertips to her wet hair.

Jyn increased the pressure a bit, devoted to the pleasure she could pull out of him. Her body flared up in return and she hummed a low sound of enjoyment over his shoulder. He reacted to her vocalization as much as to her touch. He put a hand to a waterslick wall to keep himself standing. Jyn slowed down her movements, dragging long strokes over his length and rose on her toes and level with him. “Tell me what you want,” she said, never using the voice she used with _others_ — only her own.

His whole body strained back to her again—keeping himself in the set parameters, while communicating so clearly. When he answered, voice thick in his throat: “To get both of us into that bed.” —then, being him, he took a clearing breath and asked, “You?”

She kissed the back of his neck. “I'll tell you later,” Jyn said, turning off the water.

Now, Cassian turned to face her, soaked and hard and resplendent, bending to kiss her. Jyn softly moaned into his mouth, kissing back, heat pooling between her legs and urging her to seek relief into his arms. He wrapped them around her, sealing to her skin, stepping full against her. One of his hands fumbled for something behind her; then surprised her by suddenly enveloping her in a towel. He ran his hands over her in gentle, cursory drying. Then seized her, still wrapped, back into his arms, lifting her feet off the floor. He held her upright, one arm around her back and the other her thighs. He raised his chin into a kiss as he carried her out through the ’fresher door, and braced his knee on the mattress to lower them both perfectly down.

Jyn laughed as she fell on her back, wet hair spread around her head. She lost herself into the golden sparkles of his eyes when he looked at her with such longing, like no one else would have been able to satisfy him… like nothing else in the world existed beside her, them, here, _now_. It would never be true—she knew that—but it felt like an amazing lie to live by for just a little while… her peripheral vision blurred from the outside world… and her heart stopped at the sight…

…red ceiling… breathless…

…the fear in her guts…

Only she didn’t try to fight off this time. She held onto him so tight that he pulled his face back from her neck, seeking her eyes; softly, worriedly calling her name. She couldn’t reply instantly, not until her frantic heart slowed down again and her airways unlocked painfully. She looked above them, blinking in the diffuse light of the clouded day. The ceiling _wasn’t_ red; only a part of it in its center was made of a round mosaic reflecting the color of the bedspread they laid on, along with the tangled shapes of their bodies.

Jyn watched the outline of Cassian’s silhouette, now motionless, her arms and legs curled around him like a frightened lothcat. She managed to loosen her grip, never letting go entirely, allowing the poor man some breathing capacity. “I don’t want to be under you,” she finally whispered, “anywhere else but not in a bed.”

He immediately rolled off her onto his side. He kept his gentle arms around her. “I like that too,” he said, touching his face to the side of hers. “I love seeing you. It’s also never too late to slow down.” He pressed a kiss to her cheek, his hand tracing small patterns into her hair; keeping up the intimacy while shifting gently away from the erotic. “I’m just so glad to be with you.”

Jyn missed another breath, but this time, it had nothing to do with the dark corners of her mind. She moved with him and kissed his lips repeatedly, one hand behind his neck. Her skin warmed up to him, brushing everything away from her thoughts and filling her mind with him instead until it overflowed.

Jyn hiked her leg up higher over him, feeling him, wanting him. “I’m so glad you’re here,” she said, and it was _so easy_ to confess. His arms around her waist, facing each other, Jyn mirrored him—-touching all of his exposed skin, feeling his muscles flex and relax under her touch. She rolled her hips against him, nerves fired up at the soft sound leaving his throat. “I don’t want anything slow, let me feel you.”

One of those rolling tremors through his whole body that she knew was _good._ The fingers in her hair combed in deeper, bringing his palm under her head; the symmetry he seemed to always seek; holding her head as he kissed her mouth. His forearm and wrist pillowed the bridge of her neck.

His sky-side arm began to move. It traced its favorite path down her body; fingertips and -nails skimming her arm and breast and every rib and dip of waist and rise of hip, circling inward. But instead of touching her with those fingers, he obeyed her request to feel _him._ He took himself in hand and guided it to her there; not trying to enter, but, yes, _touching;_ and as his hand returned to her thigh, curving and scooping her behind, he pressed softly in and slid along her, so she could indeed _feel him_ with her most acute nerve-endings. Her body jolted toward him without her asking to. She did nothing to stop it, the comforting taste of his lips to ease her mind through the lust. Jyn squeezed her fingers around his arm and moaned deeper. Her own arousal made it easy to build up a nice friction between her legs, sharing wetness and warmth. A pleasant feeling spread from her core and she pressed harder.

“Cassian—”

She would never get tired of calling his name; it felt like a prayer on her tongue. _If our time together wasn’t limited… would you tell me everything about you? would you tell me your full name? would you let me keep it?_

He almost managed to exhale her name, back, though a squeeze and slide of her hips stopped his breath. He kissed her again instead, deep and savoring—like they had all the time in the galaxy. Despite his best efforts, Jyn moved to straddle him, impatience taking over her. As easily and fluidly as before, he rolled onto his back, holding her hip and head in either palm as he kept kissing her, and releasing her at once when she sat back. His other hand flowed down to join the first to come to rest and perfectly hold onto the curves below her waist. She held herself upright, one hand braced against his shoulder. She followed a trail of dark hair with the other, reaching between them and taking him in hand. She lifted her hips, feeling the agreement of his hands on her, and sunk down around him with a raspy sound of pleasure in her throat. A gentle spasm rolled through her body like a wave.

“Fuck, I love this,” she whispered, her head falling forward.

He seemed to be in a state of speech-overload-failure. His blazing, blown eyes testified overwhelming agreement. _I love this, I love that you’re loving this, and I love you._ He kept his hands on her hips, not attempting to guide or control; perhaps another way, adding his fingers and his palms to his other sensory parts, to experience how _she_ _moved_ upon him. The muscles of his abs and legs kept tightening, like he wanted to move too, but not yet. For a little longer, he’d stay still and just watch _her._

Hands did move, at last; one to her breast, the other between her legs just above where she held him; far less dexterous than the last time _(s)_ but just as intensely gentle; and his eyes and the look on his face drinking her in made him look so much younger and older and ageless all at once… a complete liberation, finally unselfconscious, unaware of himself at all, just immersed in the light of her over him.

Until he couldn’t take it anymore and sat abruptly upright, hands sliding to support the small of her back, keeping her exactly where she was around and upon him, but now seated in his lap with their torsos pressed together and a new angle and anchor _depth_ down where… Jyn’s voice came undone at how the shift of position made everything tighter, and how much more of him she was able to feel. He urged her legs around his waist, bringing their cores _so together;_ and he poured his hands over her flexing back and buried his face in her neck and shoulder and breasts and moved with her below, pushing and rolling upward, inward, aiding while following her rapturous lead.

Jyn circled her arms around his shoulders, his stubble grazing her skin each time he reached to kiss a part of her. All of her nerves ablaze, she quickened her pace, his harsh breathing to match hers. A tingly sensation sparkled low in her stomach, morphing her voice into a pleading tone. So close, so easy to chase it when she was with him. She pressed her face into the crook of his neck, her nails digging in the skin of his back without her realizing.

“Cass—” she whined with a newly-found habit.

The solid friction of his body inside her made her gasp; the way he held her made her skin too tight to contain all of her emotions. They made love like they might not have a next time, like it _was_ the last time. Like they knew beyond a doubt that there wouldn’t be any more love for either of them, with anyone else or together, ever. And this moment was not to be wasted.

One of his hands rose to her shoulder, hanging on like one or both of them was about to fall. _I’ve got you… I’ll catch you…_ He gasped her name, lips vibrating her ear before closing upon it and behind it and beside her face. The hand not on her shoulder slid, cupped and closed lowest between her and the mattress, holding and heightening her every dig and clench upon him. _“My Jyn, my love…”_

In another state of mind, Jyn would have wondered how he was such a good lover. A part of her still hoped it was from heartfelt experience with enticing partners; and even if she couldn’t help that spark of… not jealousy… _longing_ to have been then and there, with him, it would’ve been better than any other alternatives for people like them. She wouldn’t think about it, take what he gave her and keep that memory for the rest of her life, no matter where they were heading. No matter if she wished the rest of her life would’ve been near him— _but not for people like us._

_I never knew it would hurt that bad to be in love, but I don’t want to go back._

He rose more abruptly beneath her; a sharp breath and buck of his hips; hand tightening on her shoulder, fingers kneading into muscle. He turned his face to hers, side-by-side, kissing her between fought breaths. Some of his movement inside her didn’t come from his thrusts. _Close, really close…_ He’d shown he wouldn’t come without her, how her sailing over the edge was what let him go there too. Except that also seemed to be unraveling… needing the cover of her release to accept his own… It was an unexpected reversal, for her mind. One would think his devotion to her satisfaction over his own would be the more thrilling—such contrast to most who’d come before; but feeling him start to lose it was its own new thrill. With her, he was, he _could_ be _,_ losing his control—but more than that: his self-rejection. _Maybe start to accept—getting closer to myself while getting closer to you_

Jyn grabbed his hair without hurting, her face against him, kissing and nuzzling and turning to his ear. “You asked what I wanted earlier,” she gasped, making some efforts to put her thoughts into coherent words. “I want you to come.”

He jolted again, groaning a curse into her skin; …and as he’d proven to her above anyone in the Galaxy, even those who’d been _supposed_ to, he did just as she asked. Seizing her in both his arms, claiming her mouth in a _deep, hard_ kiss, and thrusting up in her until, sudden and fathomless and arching back, he broke. The spasms and throb of his spending inside her was so unbelievably gentle. Even as it pulled so deep through the rest of him it shivered him apart, free-falling into her arms and making her heartbeat so much faster. He simultaneously sank against her and kept holding her up; leaning to her for support making him into a brace to keep supporting her, too. His forehead fell against her neck as he shook and breathed, hands still flat to her skin.

Finally, he raised his head. His neck strained back as he looked into her face, brown eyes seeking green. He raised one hand to her forehead, pushing back her hair, and framing their gaze; and she could tell that his smile—all the more for being small, more in his eyes than his mouth—was so much more _real_ than what he gave anyone who wasn’t her. He tried to formulate a question. He gave up to lean in and kiss her. He pulled back just enough at last to whisper, “How about you?”

Jyn laughed softly—one of those laughs she wasn’t used to, the ones that came from happiness and not her usual cynicism. She kissed him back and reached for his hand, unwrapping one arm from around her. She dragged his fingers between them, not needing to say anything else as he was quick to pick up the hint. _This_ grin dawned on his lips as well as his eyes, and he moved those lips to her again, soft and sweet on her throat, as his other fingers moved gladly to hold her while the cleverest one found what they sought. He pressed to her _so_ lightly and followed its fluid rhythm to her breathing and hips; his breath also synced with hers; and, though spent, he didn’t pull out of her, but kept the gentle anchoring presence to hold her from both sides.

Already overworked and flooded, Jyn bent to his shoulder, desperate to hug him. The odor of his skin, warm, musky, _some strange magic_ , clogged her lungs. His strength and solidity had returned to hold her firm; and he breathed tender words in her ear. Her control forfeited. She forgot to maintain balance, knowing that he was here to take care of her, which he did, catching and supporting her against him. Jyn was vaguely aware of the needy way her voice cried out for him, her brain completely unfazed by the outside world. She came on his fingers, a long shiver running up to the base of her skull, still feeling him inside her—so connected everywhere they touched. Her feverish body relaxed all at once, suddenly exhausted, unable to move. He softened his touch on her, and when he felt her finish, moved his hand gently from between them to put his arms around her fully again, and kissing her face. And they stayed exactly where they were and just breathed.

For long minutes, Jyn simply gathered as much as this peaceful bliss she could savage. The rhythm of his chest against her made her heart ache in a pleasant way. She scratched the back of his neck with a light hand, eyes closed; a touch (like all of hers) he tilted into. Then, half-smiling to herself: “Guess we can take another shower, now.”

His voiceless laugh vibrated through her. He kissed her hair then cheek then lips again, then regretfully dropped his arms from around her to brace on the bed, freeing her to pull away. And before she tried to stand up on cramped legs, Jyn looked back into his eyes for a few moments, holding his face, and let him read in her gaze—open and unguarded—all the things she wanted him to know.

⁂

Organic beings were _absurd._ The ways their bodies, nerves, glands, minds, could both protect and wound, enlighten and trick them. Example: lying entangled with someone else left you both utterly compromised, vulnerable to each other, hindered from everything else; but it _felt_ like the safest you could ever be. Likewise, survival instincts usually went one way: heightened situational awareness, slowed down time, aided anticipation, accelerated reaction.

But these three days, in Savroia. With Jyn.

Survival instincts were the only explanation, but working the opposite way. Time became meaningless. No sense of any moment but _right now._ No pre-planning or projection. All his senses were focused on _her._ Even the sights and experiences of everything around them came through the filter of knowing _she was seeing it, feeling it, hearing and smelling and being in it, too._ That was what heightened everything—for reactions to _slow._ It was survival, nonetheless. They _needed this,_ and were going to take it no matter what; and needed it to feel like forever so as not to waste a heartbeat on preemptive grief. Thus: turning off everything else. Any projection of future, any thoughts of the wider galaxy, any deadline. Letting themselves live in these moments as if they were a lifetime. _Let us do this. Just this once, for both of us. Let her have this, let me help give it to her. Force, just let us._

They went out. They ate meals. They looked at things non-strategically, her hand in his, always. They made love many times in a day, more than he would have thought he was capable of and with her couldn’t get enough. They called each other by their real names. They just… talked.

When night began to fall, they climbed an isolated peak among the mountains, until they stood high above all terrestrial lights. They counted Ord Mantell’s moons. They knew there were fifteen; not all would be visible on this side of the world; so far they’d been able to see seven at once.

“Puts Halcyon to shame,” Cassian murmured. Above all, they looked up at and were blanketed by the uncountable stars; that, just for this moment, didn’t have to be systems and planets all with their sorrows and wars. They could just be _light._

What Cassian _hadn’t_ managed, in the dark of the night with Jyn warm and breathing (asleep?) at his side, was figure out what the Sith-damned hell to do.

 _Want kills objectivity._ What was he trying to figure out—for their missions, what was best for everything else, or for themselves? _Could those ever be the same thing?_

The problem was, it wasn’t just methods after all. It went beyond strategy. There was a fundamental disagreement on how the Galaxy could and might _work._ That boiled down to things nobody could know with certainty, in advance.

Her argument made sense to him. If it was anything else, he may have joined her in it. But it was the _Empire._ He was part of the Alliance, not another freedom-fighting group, because he was convinced that the Empire could not be considered just another of all these eternal, conflicting forces. They’d outstripped the rest too much; they were too big, too organized, too powerful, and, if anything in reality could ever be a sentience-constructed absolute, they were too _evil._ Whatever problems (and, yes, their cost to innocents) destabilizing Black Sun might bring, they _needed_ to knock the Empire off their current course—for those long-term problems and innocents’ costs. In the short-term… Black Sun staying in power was _also_ killing and victimizing, right now. Preserving that for fear of worse… That _could not_ be the only choice.

Jyn or others might, reasonably, mock him a little for it. Optimism was not necessarily the most rational outlook for any sentience to adopt. Especially people like the two of them who’d repeatedly, forcibly learned otherwise. Despite all that, against all appearances and the rest of his nature, somehow; _yes,_ he had _hope._ That Mothma, Organa, Dodonna, Ackbar, Bel Iblis, Raddus, _did_ see these things; all the facets and subtleties and shades of grey; and _did_ have ideas to actually help them. If nothing else, above the rest, that they _wanted_ and were truly dedicated to doing so. However much they could. The goal was making it so they could. That was more than he trusted in anyone else. Even groups ‘whose methods diverged but whose goals were the same’, like Gerrera’s Partisans and Jyn’s Shift. Cassian hadn’t chosen the CIS. He’d been too young and too alone. His surviving Separatist allies challenged him for this, too, after _that_ cause proved worse than a lie; but he _had_ chosen the Alliance. Maybe it was a ludicrous reason… all other reasoning had proved so tragically fallible anyway… maybe it was all he had left: the Rebellion was the only force, out of them all, built on _hope._

So. What? Staring sleepless out the window at the (tonight) six moons and infinite stars… one voice suddenly silenced the rest in his head. Jyn’s. Asking, _Do you believe in the Force?_

He knew how deep he’d cut her when he’d said _I don’t._ It hadn’t been a lie. But it had also only been a _moment._

He suddenly knew, to his molecules-that-had-once-been-stars. This was too big for him. He couldn’t figure it out for everyone. He couldn’t even figure it out just for them, two. No singular being could or should, for all others. That was the very problem with the Empire.

The one thing he _could,_ and _had_ to, actually judge himself, as being in his control, was the one element of all this that was unambiguous. Their people were imprisoned, soon to be executed, and White Snake was their only way to save them. Those prisoners deserved saving, for all they’d done to help others, and needed saving for all they could _still_ do to help. Information they had on which others depended, that mustn’t fall into Black Sun or Imperial hands, and mustn’t just be lost. Short- and long-term agreed on this one point.

…And that _was_ his bloody fucking mission. Always had been.

Like perhaps his superiors _did_ know what they were doing. Like he _hoped._

Jyn, Eoghan, Draven, White Snake, maybe the Force, had given him this time. Time was up.

In his arms, her back pressed to his chest, Jyn barely drew in a breath. He still felt it, already able to read her non-verbal cues like he had known her for decades. “When you wake up tomorrow,” she said, her voice barely above a murmur—not even checking that he wasn’t asleep, because she, too, knew _,_ “I won’t be here anymore.”

Cassian’s eyes fell from the window. He closed them and pressed them to the back of her neck. His inability to cry had never felt worse.

Waking up to find someone gone was one kind of horror… but she was right. If they let themselves say goodbye, they’d just beg each other and the Galaxy to let them stay. And that was too much pain. It wasn’t how this… or they… went.

“You deserve so much more than this Galaxy gave you,” he whispered into her skin. “I wish I could be the one to help you get it.”

A silent sob moved her chest. She might have been crying for a while. “You already did.”

He pressed a kiss to her nape, his arms tight around her. “You did for me, too.”

She didn’t ask him if he’d figured it out. She’d known from the start he wouldn’t be able to. It had just taken _him_ this long to accept it. They held each other, trying to live in it rather than mourn it, and he thought he could never fall asleep and let this slip away. But he did.

And he woke.

And she was gone.

He hadn’t known what he’d do. It turned out: as he’d always done. He got up, closed all open ends, and headed back, letting the cold fade Cassian back into Willix.

With one difference. Cassian had never before left something mission-relevant deliberately unresolved. This time…

He’d leave it up to the Force.


	15. Event Horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **event horizon** _(astrophysics)_ a boundary beyond which events cannot affect an observer.

**15: Event Horizon**

Jyn had recovered from so many terrible, horrible things in her life… surely she could find the will to _simply_ walk away. But how to close a door when, for the first time, she didn’t wish to forget and wash the traumas away… when she wasn’t running from pain and sorrow—but from the only person that had made a home for her, right in his arms.

Why did she _have_ to choose? Why did she have to be brave—a soldier, a fighter, a shell without feelings and desires.

She wasn’t brave; she was hurting. She thought of turning back, so many times, just to stay with him. She didn’t. She knew what had to be done.

Jyn went back to Worlport, lost in a daze, thinking that she would never be able to forget the way he said her name, the way he kissed her and smiled at her. She would never be able to forget _Cassian_ , and if everything else in her life felt cold and tasteless now, so be it. If this was the price to pay, it had been worth it to be with him just for a second of forever. He had been worth it all. Jyn closed her arms around his memory and held tight, in a place of her heart no one else would ever have access to. _And if I die now, at least I’ve known love with you._

She reached the Parallel before activities really awoke in the gambling districts. The familiar sight of the discreet establishment greeted her under a light drizzle, frosted-glass windows and silent porch. Inside the communal room, Jyn found Asegga sitting at her usual table, hot caf in front of her. She walked up to meet with the Twi’lek, unwrapping her scarf and discarding her gloves on her lap.

“Still an early one,” the tenant commented with a courteous head-tilt. “I wondered if you were already gone.”

“We made a deal,” Jyn said, reaching for her travel bag on the ground. “My people always deliver.”

“So I've heard.”

Silence returned while Jyn pulled out the series of forged identichips she had just finished working on. She pushed them towards Asegga, who inspected it with a certain level of admiration.

“That’s nice work. No one can tell the difference?”

“No one that will look at it, no. I sliced the security algorithm directly from real Imperial IDs. They’re free to go wherever they want with this, it will hold up any spaceport scanning. You have my word.” Jyn tapped a finger on the ident labeled as Cora Kallea. “This one is for Csillag. She will need the extra clearance if she still wants to go to Kafrene. Her scandocs won’t be reclocked each time the Ring resets. I hope it will be enough for her to find them.”

“You’re a good soul, Nova.”

Jyn almost winced at the name, retreating back behind the ghost of Jyn Erso like a wounded animal.

“We appreciate you taking the risk to provide me with cover,” she said. “You helped a lot by letting me operate here.”

“You brought your fair share of clients,” Asegga smirked, business-like. “Was it successful, your mission?”

 _It will be._ “Yes,” Jyn said.

“I guess we won’t see each other again, then.”

“Probably not.” She hesitated for a few seconds, then: “But you can reach us if you ever need to. We have sleepwalker agents along the Burke’s. Use the same identification code I gave you.”

Asegga picked up one of the fake IDs and examined it like a precious crystal. Her lekku moved over her collarbones, telling cue of her next sentence. “So there’s more like you, here?”

“Not like me, no.” Jyn started to pull her scarf up again, feeling the fabric still damp under her fingers.

The tenant flashed her a little smile, almost… tender. “Not like you—for sure. Goodbye then, Nova Sande.”

Already, Jyn was on her feet. “Keep the credits from my logs, I don’t need it. And keep this place alight, the night only gets darker from here… Goodbye, boss.”

⁂

“Feke me with a stunstick, look what the savrip dragged in.” Eoghan gestured for Cassian to take a chair. “You went off the grid, a few days. I thought we’d find you face-first down a vacc tube. Tell me you did something good with them? Like a _vacation?”_

“Actually, yes,” said Cassian.

“Shavit. First sensible choice you’ve made.” Eoghan clicked his fingers. The attending droid poured two drinks. When Cassian waved his away, Eoghan took both. The droid exited at Eoghan’s nod and sealed the door behind her. “You look better. Almost three quarters alive.”

“Thank you.”

“So?”

“So, I’m returning to duty, requesting debrief.”

Eoghan swigged the first drink. “Lessee. Your girl’s been cleared. Rather, the charges were dropped. Seems her arrest was premature. Suspicion was based entirely on one witness calling her the last person seen with the deceased. That witness has been subsequently found shot up in an alley with three dead confederates, all sporting the same brand-marks as our murder victim. So _that’s_ called into question. Suggests someone else was behind all of it. I don’t care how weird she is, no Human is taking out a gang like that, alone.”

_No. Not alone._

“To top it off, the arresting officer was a bucket _you_ crossed a while back. Something about idents in the dirt and prostitutes as constituents. You know the gundark. It’s looking like he jumped the gun to arrest her out of spite. All one perfect shassing storm, with your girl a double scapegoat in the eye.”

“Stop calling her that,” muttered Cassian.

“Sorry. _Woman.”_

_~~‘Mine’.~~ _

“So, that’s pfassking that.” Eoghan downed another swig. “Wrapped up neat enough.”

Cassian wondered paranoiacally if White Snake mightn’t have had something to do with that neatness. He wondered more plausibly if Eoghan hadn’t tied some ends together. He wondered with mixed feelings if the _Force_ was finally waking up after all; doling out some just rewards, even on Ord Mantell.

“Less good news.” Eoghan drank. “Pterro’s been cleared of poisoning you and we’re at a dead end.”

“I know who did it,” said Cassian. “I’ve taken care of it.”

Eoghan raised his eyebrows. “I’m going to let it go at that because…?”

“Because here’s the closure of your leak.” Cassian stood, pulled a data card out of his pocket, and set it on the desk between them. Eoghan gave him a long-suffering look. Suppressing an actual smile, Cassian grabbed a datapad to insert the card, himself, and slid it across so Eoghan didn’t have to put down his drink. “It’s a cruncher named Irrim. I’ve been onto him from the start. But this shouldn’t come down on him and stop there. He’s a symptom. Whoever recruited him needs to be got, or they’ll just wait until he’s fired and recruit someone else. —And, by ‘recruit’, I mean ‘blackmail’. Irrim’s exchanging intel to protect his niece. I’d like to advise cutting him some slack.”

“Advisement noted,” said Eoghan. “So I take it you’ve found the source… problem… virus… whatever metaphor we’re settling on?”

“Yes. It’s the Fort Garnik casino owner and hotelier, Knaze Ba’an Sert. He moonlights as an advisor to the Governor General and is really a pan-syndicate Burke’s Trailing kingpin known as White Snake.”

 _“The_ White Snake?” At this world-shaking, career-changing revelation, Eoghan nearly _did_ set down his drink. “You’re kidding me. Pfassk. …But kark it, Will, this isn’t actionable. How’m I gonna get the guy?”

“One more time, leaving it to me. Blame me for vigilantism, if it gets back to anyone at all. That’ll be believable with my public behavior.”

“You’re not worried about your rep?”

“If I were,” said Cassian dryly, “hasn’t that ship already flown? But, no. You know once I’m outta here, I’m wind.”

Yeah. Only one in the chain, from Eoghan to his superiors, ever knew Cassian was Alliance. Just the one to secure him this spot. The rest shouldn’t and didn’t want to know. “And are you ‘outta here’ once this is done?”

“That was the arrangement, right?”

Eoghan’s mouth thinned in agreement. He finished the first drink and picked up the second. “When are you proposing to wrap?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Wow.” Eoghan didn’t scold for only hearing this now. “So. I guess this is goodbye.”

“Yes. No one else knows or will know. I go missing tomorrow evening. Probably taken down for any number of the fights I’ve picked this month.”

The look Eoghan gave him was almost affectionate. “So you only _seem_ like you don’t know what you’re doing.”

(Can’t rule out the retroactive: acting _now_ like he _had_ known, then. Had he stuck out his neck so much for ‘Nova’ ’cause it played to his act, or had he taken advantage of the act to do it for her…? Plan or justification. He wasn’t sure whether he was reprieved or missed getting running analysis from Kaytoo.)

Eoghan went on, “Guess we should clear accounts today.”

“No,” said Cassian. “No suggestion you knew. Give my last paycheck to a school or something. Someone that doesn’t benefit the Empire without getting you in trouble.”

“You’re not feking shady enough, you know that?”

“Why you hired me,” repeated Cassian. “I’ll be getting more out of Sert than I would have from you.”

“You’re right, I don’t want to know. Just get him away from _here.”_

“I will.”

Eoghan regarded him another moment. For half a beat, Cassian wondered if Eoghan would actually, at the last moment, ask. He didn’t. Instead, far more astonishingly, Eoghan _set_ _down the glass._ “Well. It’s been interesting having you around. I might actually miss it. Good luck.” He stood and offered his hand. “If you screw us with this, I’ll hunt you down myself. —No. I’ll send someone _sober_ to hunt you down.”

Cassian smiled, stood too, and shook hands. “Thanks for the opportunity to get the munk.”

Eoghan picked back up his drink to toast goodbye.

⁂

Civilians assumed espionage was a complicated matter. It wasn’t. Just a game of putting the right pieces together to access a wider picture. The delicate part was the intel acquisition—getting the pieces at all—as so many things could go wrong on the field. But Jyn had spent enough time on Ord Mantell to put all the loose ends together without even showing her face. This wasn’t her test run, either. Only a mere formality.

Crunched down in the silent data room, Jyn carefully scanned the little black green in her hands, reading through glaring lines of information in search of the fitting piece. It hadn’t been hard to trace back White Snake’s real identity, now that she had his face and the purchase records of the Alderaanian candlewick flower. Not the type of item everybody could order on a whim around here, megalomania had its downfalls—as the bastard was about to learn very soon.

Knaze Sert wouldn’t want to take the time or dirty his fancy shoes enough to meet somewhere _inconvenient_. For all his likely paranoia and security measures, he’d want to cut right to the chase. Which meant, right to Morro Spaceport. Jyn already had an approximate zero hour. With Cassian’s operational alias, who was likeliest footing the bill (the Mantell gov’t, possibly cross-reference name ‘Eoghan’), cross-checking leads was almost too easy for her skills.

Jyn pulled up another “secure” manifest from the spaceport logs, hearing the occasional footsteps of the tech personnel walking up and down the stairs to reach the ATC tower, unaware of her presence in the data room. In the shadows of the roaming servers, the green text flashed in front of her eyes, intersecting all of her alerts. An order from one G Wlx: to move a JS-77B shuttle from long-term storage—paid for by L Egn, mayoral undersecretary—to a Morro landing pad for imminent departure. _Marked_.

The shuttle itself was a piece of crap. Security in being underestimated, Jyn figured—Cassian wouldn’t want to draw any attention on this extraction. However, Willix’s standing with the government and standard procedures meant he wouldn’t move the shuttle from storage itself. That would be done by a valet. Confirmed zero hour: any time within the window of the pad’s availability and the reserved time. Jyn had her window of action. Re: too easy.

She would be ready.

⁂

Cassian stood at military rest, hands clasped behind his back, seemingly watching the sky. The blue sun was still beautiful, after all this time and associations. So was the violet cast it gave the clouds. He’d wondered since his first day what Ord Mantell had looked like before all the conflicts repeatedly tore it up.

He knew White Snake would keep him waiting. Fine. Being trapped alone on a shuttle with him was going to be the worst, but it was almost over.

 _Nothing’s ‘over’. After you deliver him to the Alliance, he’s going to get to keep **living** , and working, along the same lines. He’s not going to kriffing reform or retire. And everything he left in his wake… _Cassian may have chosen not to make his decisions on them, but Jyn’s predictions still haunted him. _Please, Force and Yavá, make this work. Make this worth it._

~~_thenmaybeicouldcomebackandtrytofindheragai_ ~~

He caught sight of White Snake two blocks away. The asshole had come with a full security team who were being shit at staying inconspicuous. If they came too close to the landing pad, so much for anonymity in departure.

Finally, at some signal, they dispersed. White Snake crossed the last distance and stepped up to Cassian alone.

“Hello again,” said Sert. “Glad to see you alive.”

 _No thanks to you._ Cassian said only, “No luggage?”

“No,” said Sert. “I’ll purchase what I need on the other side. Whatever your superiors haven’t already agreed to provide.”

That sickened, twisting feeling again. _Why didn’t you tell me…_ “You might want a holonovel or something,” said Cassian. “It’s going to be a long jump.”

Sert raised a disapproving brow. “Why? We’re on the Celanon _and_ Entralla routes.” Neither of which was helpful to where they were going, but better to say aloud than _Burke’s._ Suspicion, never far off, crept into Sert’s expression. “Unless the destination isn’t as agreed?”

“It is,” said Cassian to both. “As you’ll see, our transport doesn’t have a nav com. The onboard computers break the trip into a few extra jumps.”

Sert craned his head to look over Cassian’s shoulder at the shuttlecraft. His expression turned scandalized. “We’re going in _that?”_ he hissed at the JS-77B interstellar shuttle. “A _Sublight_ model? Is this a joke?”

“Would you prefer the latest luxury-class cruiser armed to the teeth? This—no one will think an honored guest” _(necessary evil asset, vile loathsome fu—)_ “such as yourself would be caught dead in one.”

“You’ve got that right,” snarled Sert. “Very well. But you’d better be good on your word. And it had better be hyperspace-worthy. I am _not_ going to die on a trash heap like that.”

Cassian falsely smiled. He gestured for Sert to proceed.

Giving him a filthy look, Knaze Sert, the White Snake, stepped on the boarding ramp.

Cassian stopped at the attendant to give final authorization and a gratuity for the valet. Sert waited for him on the ramp, obviously torn between excruciating disdain for being seen with the shuttle, yet not going to go anywhere without Cassian, too. _(If I had an ambush planned for you… it wouldn’t make any sense. Whatever. Have it your way.)_ Cassian led them on board.

“You’ll have the cabin to yourself,” said Cassian over his shoulder, hitting the panel to start the ramp’s retraction. “You won’t see me unless you come into the cockpit.” _And please don’t._

“Small mercies,” said Sert acidly.

Most pilots didn’t wait to watch the whole process of the outer doors sealing. Cassian always did. They finished. They were now cut off and shut in. Cassian turned again, unreadably, to Sert. “I suggest you strap yourself in.”

With a martyred look, Sert turned to do so.

“Don’t strap yourself too comfortably,” called a third voice, “you’re not going far.” Emerging from the flight deck, the small silhouette of _Jyn_ suddenly appeared in the galley, standing before the two men. Face blank of any expression. Body strategically standing her ground. Ready to proceed.

 _“Stucking kung!”_ Sert exploded but Cassian was already moving. Before the last consonant, he’d put himself between Jyn and Sert, in combat readiness, wishing Ng’ok’s enforcers or the Starlag gang or the feking lexonite had killed him. “I knew it,” Sert was swearing, “you kukking traitor—”

“Shut up and get behind me!” Cassian barked. His eyes never left Jyn. “…Are we really doing this?”

“I told you that day,” she breathed, shifting the sharp blade in her hand, “don’t stand in my way.”

“And you know I have to.” Mechanically, agonizingly, he drew his blaster.

_He’d bet on her against himself in unarmed combat_

The faintest of hesitation flashed in her eyes… already gone with the next heartbeat. “I know.” —was all she said before lunging toward him, faster than he would have thought possible in such a constrained environment. Her armed hand swiftly leveled with his chest, but she bent her arm and hit with her elbow instead, right into his sternum.

_He didn’t want her to have to._

He should have fired already. He hadn’t. And didn’t. He dropped the blaster to intercept and block, grabbing the wrist of her knife-hand and concaving himself backward to soften the blow to his chest. Then going for…

_don’t grab my neck_

…her other arm. Tightening and twisting his hand to try to break her grip on the blade. Jyn was quick to react, throwing her knee into his stomach next, with enough force to make him double over. He absorbed the hit and turned caving into pitching himself forward, barrelling toward her stomach to knock her off her feet. She had to take a few steps back to avoid losing her balance. A furious growl escaped her lips. Jyn circled her wrists around his hold to break free, rotating her body until she could push back on his side, trying to bypass him.

If she didn’t hold back in the process, knocking air out of his lungs, she still wasn’t using the lethal range he knew she possessed, either.

He let her break his grip on her wrists, only to shove his shoulder forward, winding her return and throwing his arm around her waist.

_…pulling her backwards from the lighthouse ledge back through the broken panes_

He planted his foot and used his momentum to spin them both, trying to get her away from Sert and against the wall.

_…hoisting her up, pinning her with his body and kissing her like…_

Her back violently collided with a durasteel panel. Jyn pushed her forearm against his throat, hard enough that in a few seconds he would have trouble breathing. She fumbled around, her left foot searching to hook around his ankle to send him to the ground. He grabbed her forearm to try and reclaim the air, slamming his knee to the bulwark between her legs—

_…to keep her fully seated, as he slid his hand…_

How could this possibly end if neither was willing to finish the other…

_I love this so much holding him moving in her_

Her eyes were on him, dark, focused, _the mission comes first_ — but also; _you know I have to._

_I don’t want to hurt you—_

His move now would be to block her airway exactly as she was doing him; get her in a vice between his forearm and the steel wall.

_—I’m not going to._

Was it him choosing or her not leaving it to him—? breaking his stance, forcing him back…

_Ever_

They grappled, the Galaxy spinning beneath them. She used his superior height against him, twisting and ducking under his arm, using a mirror-side grab; pulling her other hand under his shoulder with a painful grab of muscle, pulling him forward, past her hip…

A flash of her vibroblade to his throat…

She had him. All she needed to do was finish it. Their eyes met one more time.

_I love you_

A blaster fired.

_—no—of course Sert had a blaster—don’t let him have shot her—don’t you fucking dare_

but it was Cassian who suddenly found himself slamming to the deck. He couldn’t catch himself. His arm fell useless at his side. He belatedly felt the burn, inward of his shoulder blade.

Somewhere, Jyn’s rending cry: “Cassian!”

 _Mudcrutch aimed for her and hit me  
_ _thank… wait…_

In twenty more seconds, Jyn would have beat Cassian anyway. It was a twisted kind of mercy that White Snake managed to make it his own doing. And sealed his own fate.

_Leave it to the Force_

Without anything standing between them anymore, Jyn was on Sert instantly, yanking the blaster away with a solid blow of the arm.

Seeing her now, so rageful and deadly in the way she used force against the man, the contrast with what had just happened between her and Cassian only vibrated louder through the entire ship, obvious for all their minds. She could’ve killed Cassian. She just didn’t _want_ to. But it wasn’t Cassian she was facing now. And Sert was, correctly, petrified. Nothing would stop her in her mission.

Jyn didn’t use a single more attack than necessary, strategically, aiming to do considerable damage with each strike. She had her mark punched to the wall without missing a beat, blood dripping down his nose, slouching on a seat with a painful wailing.

Her right hand flipped the blade, now facing target, and she violently thrust it into the man’s genitals. “With the compliments of Imgiri Raa—” Sert’s guttural scream of agony died on his throat as Jyn pulled the blade free and aimed for his trachea next. “—and the Third State Federation.” Eyes dilated from terror, Sert gasped like a fish out of the water, reduced to complete silence. A nauseating sound spoke for him when Jyn twisted the blade, cutting through tendons and flesh to slide his carotid artery.

Bright-red blood soaked her fingers where she held the man upright, watching the life being drained out of him with a rapid pulse. Then, finally, she let him go freely and Sert’s dead body fell inwards, collapsing on the deck.

It had barely taken more than a minute.

“How bad is it?” Jyn asked, a pressing concern in her voice.

Cassian lay where he’d fallen. She meant the wound. Well, it had left his whole arm tingling (blood flow? nerve damage?), but if only his arm was affected, that was nothing. Blasterburns always hurt like hell, even when superficial, and would keep eating through tissue until he treated it, but he could cope. A few days of lite bacta injections and a patch or five would fix this one. It wasn’t the first time he’d been shot in the back.

That’s what she meant. It wasn’t what, at last, he answered.

“Barid Mesoriaam,” he said. “Intelligence. Saved eighty-six civilians during the Corellian Resistance. Captured carrying intel to help the Protectors on Concord Dawn.

“Sunnar Jan-lo, navy: leader of the Agamarian Resistance, saved aer squadron during Operation Strike Fear. Has knowledge of tech in development. Captured while aiding the evacuation of Mykapo.

“Faa-Char, ambassador: helped broker the union of Mon Cala with Alliance to free the Mon Calamari from Imperial enslavement. Captured on mission unifying surviving Separatist holdouts.

“Taidu Sefla, militia: helped save two squadrons and one-hundred twenty-nine civilians in the Skirmish on Imvur. Captured while coordinating relief efforts for the famine on Teralov.

“Rodma Maddel, Intelligence. Captured carrying intel on the Imperial acquisitions spike. I recruited and trained her, myself.

“All of them have information… to help people; if got out, will hurt them instead.

“That’s who’s going to be interrogated and die in Black Sun prisons now that I’ve failed to bring White Snake alive.”

Jyn trembled on her feet, in a way she hadn’t while facing imminent threats to her life. She holstered the blade, empty gestures and pale skin tainted by violence. “I won’t do you the injury to tell you I’m sorry for what I did. I wish those people didn’t have to be _symptoms._ ” Her shoulders dropped, same as her voice. “If you have to shoot me to close that loop, I won’t stop you.”

At _that,_ out of all of it, Cassian was suddenly furious. “You think I kill for _satisfaction?_ That another body—another _ghost—_ does any good for anyone?” He reached his good arm to grab his fallen blaster. He dragged it to himself across the deck with a scrape of metal. He pushed himself up by it to his knees. “I guess I could take _you_ back, in his place, but we don’t need more intel on the rotting Shift. We know enough.”

“So it seems,” Jyn commented, no baseline in her tone.

He didn’t glare at her. He didn’t look at her. Not even to get her in his sights. With the wrong hand, he holstered the weapon to his side.

“I was an idiot,” he said. “I thought… _God,_ I don’t know what I thought. That I’d _leave it to the Force._ Without thinking how that could actually go. I was compromised. In denial. That somehow, you… we… Fuck. No. It was always going this way. You said it would. I should have listened to you.”

This next would haunt him. He should have cursed the Force, the Galaxy, _himself._ But what he senselessly, unforgivably said was: “Damn you.”

Jyn turned away without a sound, closing distance to the control panel and letting the black slope fall open again. “Yeah… I guess you were right,” she said, bitter, broken. “There’s no point in believing. I've learned that lesson, now.”


	16. Singularity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **singularity** _(astrophysics)_ a region in spacetime in which tidal gravitational forces become infinite.

**16: Singularity**

Jyn managed to walk long enough to exit Morro Spaceport, moving at a fast pace through the disorganized districts surrounding the area.

Somewhere between the Naweenen Fate Rooms and Century Lane, the ground shifted under her, forcing her to grab a wall for support. Jyn braced herself with both arms, breath hurting in her lungs and vision blurred. Her forehead touched the harsh surface, trying to regain her balance—in vain, line of horizon tipping over. Circled by the pitch-black night, she rolled over and looked up. No moon visible through the heavy blanket of pollution hovering above this doomed city. A sobbing plea reached her ears, hands trembling by her sides.

_The mission comes first._

_— My Jyn, my love._

_Remember us._

_— I’m never forgetting._

_I wish we’d met somewhere else._

_— I’m glad you’re with me._

_We can go to Halcyon and be different people._

_— Come with me._

_When I’m with you, I want to believe._

_— I don’t._

_I love you, Cassian._

_— Damn you._

Jyn raised her hands to her face, desperately trying to stop herself from mentally collapsing in the middle of the street. Sert’s blood was still on her skin, a cruel reminder of the reality she lived in. No matter how hard she wished things had been different, she couldn’t undo her actions. She couldn’t escape the consequences, either. Jyn Erso didn’t get to have a happy ending just because she _wanted_ to. She was a murderer, a thief, a liar, and all the tabs she had left behind had to be paid at the end of the day. One way or another.

She acted for the cause, for what she believed in, too far gone now to turn back.

It had to be worth it in the end, even if not for her.

_I’ve served my purpose. Walking away from you, I may have lost myself forever… but if I hadn’t, everything I’ve done would have been for nothing. How could have I let you love a person I wasn’t?_

_Cassian… it’s okay if you hate me forever, my love. I hate myself, too._

With sluggish gestures, Jyn pushed herself from the wall. Unsupported, unwanted, undesired. Alone. ‘Everything good dies,’ Saw had once said. She never forgot his words, nor the downfall of his treason. And the cold of this everlasting night couldn’t even get to her anymore.

In her frenzy to get away from him, Jyn instinctively went back to familiar territories, not far from Herglic's Folly. She couldn’t show up at the Parallel anymore, and (even for her, _especially_ for her) wandering in the gambling districts without a destination was a bad idea. She needed to contact Citadel and to update the others on her mission status, possibly arrange her way-off of this fucking planet, but the idea of going back to the lighthouse made her sick. Not after what they’d shared there. Anywhere else would do. Somewhere where Jyn Erso hadn’t existed…

…letting Liana Hallik take over once more.

Later, she would wonder if the fresh trauma had impaired her brain to the point of dropping any situational awareness—or if she had heard them, but chose to ignore the threat because she didn’t care anymore. She probably would never know.

A few streets away from the Bish café where Jyn and Cassian had shared a meal, a lifetime ago; from where they had kissed and discovered passion into each other’s arms, they jumped on her. Surprised by the sudden attack and outnumbered by half a dozen opponents, Jyn was brutally slammed to the nearest wall. The back of her head hit the hard stones with a ringing burst of pain, her vision blacking out. Muscle memory kicked in despite the dizziness of her mind, trying to get her free. She pushed back, hitting the closest body with all the force she could throw into it.

She might have done significant damage, even incapacitated a second target with a leg swing—but the fatigue of her previous fight, the head injury, and the burning despair in her soul ultimately proved insurmountable. Jyn was slammed back to the wall, blood now running down her neck, choking on a painful grunt as rageful hands closed around her neck. Panic took over, losing track of every skill that might have still saved her.

Jyn grasped the rigid pair of forearms strangling her to death, eyes wide open into the night.

…red ceiling…

_Promise you’ll say if I should stop._

…brutal hands tearing apart her clothes…

_Our terms. Just us._

“You kriffing bitch,” a man barked in her face, “you think you and your dog can come after the Empire? I’ll teach you where you belong!”

Her lungs burned, screaming for air.

“I’m going to kill you, and then I’ll find him—” _Pterro_. She recognized Pterro’s voice. Ah, it all made sense, now. “ —ask him if it was worth it just to fuck a dirty whore, and I’ll kill him, too!”

_No, you won’t. You have no idea. You won’t even find him._

If Jyn hadn’t been in such excruciating pain, she probably would’ve laughed. But that, too, she couldn’t do.

Contrary to popular belief, killing someone by strangulation was a hard task. It required a considerable amount of pressure, applied without disruption for several, long minutes. Not an easy process, and no matter his rage, Pterro probably didn’t have the force to carry on. Thankfully, the lieutenant was a well-organized person: he made sure to conduct his vendetta with some backup players. What better time for bonding with friends than killing the useless prostitute that got you humiliated in front of half a government? Up to Imperial standards.

Jyn was sent to the ground, barely gulping for oxygen, and something solid caught her in her midsection. She gasped from pain, curling on her side and trying to shield her most vital organs. Wistful. There was nothing to be done while they kicked her like a dead animal, a pack of wolves shredding their prey to pieces. She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t even cry. She choked again, spitting blood on the dirt, her nails digging on the sand like she could’ve managed to drag herself away.

_So, this is how I die. Alone, on this fucking hellish planet, with no one to know what happened to me. No one to cry for me._

She didn’t even have the energy to be scared anymore.

_Let me go quick. I’m so done. I’m so tired. I’m so broken._

Jyn pressed her lids shut, wishing she could dissociate from that brutal reality. No matter what they did to her next, no matter the abuse and the horror and the pain— she didn’t have to stay here anymore.

She wished she could've seen him one last time…

_— We’ve got each other._

…dancing the night away…

_— What I want is you._

…listening to the ocean…

— _I wish I could be the one to help you get it._

…looking through moons and starlight…

_— I love you, Jyn._

Smiling for her, being like the sun.

_It’s so cold without you here. I don’t want it anymore. I just wanted our forever._

_I just wanted you._

_Cassian._

⁂

This ocean had no firefly lights. These mountains were farther away than in Savroia. This floor wasn’t the lighthouse’s. The echo of each was what he clung to even now.

Cassian sat on the floor of the stripped Mannett vault-fortress, head back, eyes closed. The metal edge of the control bank dug into his naked shoulders. It kinda helped cool the blasterburn, freshly treated and patched over—which he’d done himself, contorting and blind. He wasn’t going back to the deepdock. Ever. And who else was here to help him.

The comms were on. He wasn’t transmitting anything. They were receiving, open to all channels, pouring out chatter from Worlport to Freelonn, Savroia to Fort Garnik, and back. He should be reporting to Draven and/or Kay. He wasn’t. He just sat on the doshing floor.

_Mission failed. Advise._

He’d send the report. He’d confess his amateurish crimes. He hadn’t done such things when he _was_ a cadet so maybe they’d figure he was overdue. Except, to get new orders, he’d have to say _why_ the mission failed. And the new orders would likely include her.

 _Faa-Char. Jan-lo. Mesoriaam. Sefla. Maddel._ He’d kept their names out of his mind this whole time. It wouldn’t help save them, to emotionally carry them around. He’d needed to stay detached. _(Ha. Working so hard to depersonalize **them** , while with **her** …) _Now that he’d said them aloud, now that he’d failed them, they were one more roster to haunt his mind. Like his team on Chemvau, like Spectrum unit, like…

_That’s who’s going to die now that I’ve failed_

If he’d told Jyn all of it from the start, would that have changed a thing? That they weren’t just individuals— _though saving an individual should count too—_ but how every one of them carried the survival or destruction of hundreds more? Set that against her own (too valid) points about whole populations?

Too late. It was all too late. Sert was dead—now, in several places.

The spaceport techs had registered the gunfire and tried to impound the shuttle. Cassian had managed to get it out of there, but the ship _was_ a piece of junk; never intended for evasive maneuvers. With their flagging, it would never break atmo. So, instead… he crashed it into Mount Avilatan. Some of Sert, additionally mangled and scorched beyond positive identification, stayed on board. If found, the remains would nurture more chaos than closure on Sert’s disappearance, which, on the Trailing, could be useful. If they searched carefully enough, bits of Willix’s transponder were around as well. That would help Eoghan go with the vigilante explanation, if Sert _had_ been identified boarding (not unlikely enough) and anyone traced the shuttle’s storage trail. Last and worst, but, in its way, fitting: Sert’s hands and head lay anchored at the bottom of an extinct crater in the Badlands, filled from the mudflats to become a bog. (How to preserve organic matter: keep it all dry or all wet.) They would stay there unless-until anyone needed them to confirm the mudcrutch’s death.

Dead. Disappeared. Get on with the next thing.

_Do it. Go on. Get up._

_Just for right now. Let us do this._

He stayed on the floor, his blasted back to the transmission board, eyes closed. Half-listening to the sounds of the uncaring Galaxy continuing to spin forever forward.

_[static] [channel overlap] [static] unregistered alien [static] juvenile [overlap] —acking scandocs [static] interred for [static, overlap] —ve no iden [static] —nly name gi— [overlap] —sked for unknown i— [static] —ity ‘Neric’—_

Cassian’s eyes flew open. He sprang to his feet and his hands raced across the controls to isolate the frequency.

_—rialan/Delphi… no authorization… —rrying manufa— …ter puri… …held at Garnik until can dete—_

Fucking pfassking Force—

Cassian grabbed his abandoned tunic, yanked it on heedless of his shoulder and arm; grabbed the courier bag loaded with all the belongings he wasn’t abandoning at the deepdock; powered down the equipment in record time, kicked the camo into place, and finished pulling on his jacket as he sprinted down the stairs.

⁂

“Sorry, sir, can you repeat your identification?” the tech asked nervously.

Cassian couldn’t be Willix again, even if that persona would be (ha ha, fuck you, Force) the most effective here. In any subsequent timeline, Willix needed to be a possible murderer or victim re: the remains on the shuttle. —But Cassian could still use bits of him. Hell, the attitude had been the key even when he _had_ authorization behind it.

“No,” said Cassian, looming threateningly. (He wasn’t taller than the tech. He just understood posture and sightlines. Intimidation level: the closest a non-Falleen could come to dowsing an adversary in alarm pheromones.) “I can’t. What I’ve given you should be enough. Now you need to return my property.”

“You d-don’t have any scandocs reinf-forcing your c-claim,” the tech answered, more nervous by the minute.

Cassian leaned in, glaring, yet voice dropping to a conspiratorial level. (Make them fear you, then let them prove themselves indispensable.) “You saw it. It’s a child. It doesn’t _have_ scandocs yet. Was I just going to leave it on the streets? Dying of starvation or crime? You know these things. They need oversight or they’re animals. You going to let it die in a cell? What use is that to anyone? How is that better for a child?”

It wasn’t just Cassian who’d cracked this code. If more beings could afford or bear to think this way, it would be comically obvious. Few sentients cast themselves as villains. Most were sincere in their convictions. And _conviction_ was so bound to other autonomic processes, it was petrifyingly easy—difficult _not—_ to reframe self-interest as _ethics_. Find the emotional tripwires and the rationalizations did their own dancing around them. Even _internal_ logic stood no chance. _Magnanimous subjugation: the burden of superiority._ Going Imperial with it… sometimes, just a matter of scale.

The tech looked down at the file. Then at Cassian. Then they hit a button.

“We’ll bring it out to you,” said the tech. “Please, wait here.”

“Hurry up,” grunted Cassian.

Within ten minutes, they emerged: two guards _(seriously? you need that many?)_ flanking a tiny, shaking, but majestically defiant-looking child. Daughter of ul’Auv and Kariah, sister of Thaeo: Nor.

Cassian looked down his nose as if simply, grumpily, checking her condition. For a rushed moment, his eyes locked with hers. _Don’t call me ‘Neric’. Be brave and silent a bit longer. And please I’m sorry please don’t hear anything I’m about to say._

“Good, it’s intact,” he snarled. “If you’d damaged it, you’d’ve owed me. Hand it over so I can _go, now._ ”

The tech nodded and the guards prodded Nor toward him. Her jaw had gone a little slack and she stared at him… and cringed back.

Cassian scowled as if that _didn’t_ break his heart, and held out one hand to her. “Move it!”

Nor, looking both horrified and agedly astute, tentatively took his hand. The angle and tension of his arm made the grip look brutal. Onlookers wouldn’t be able to tell his fingers were gentle, projecting all the reassurance (too damn little) that they could. “This better not happen again!” he snapped as he led her away.

_Don’t speak. Don’t speak. A little farther._

Eons later, at the border of the Imperial district, Cassian turned a corner, looked in all directions to make sure no one was paying attention, and like a shot was on his knees and putting a gentle hand just shy of Nor’s hair. He put all his worry onto his face so she couldn’t mistake it. (When suppression becomes automatic, showing even sincere emotion has to be a choice. …Only, briefly, with Jyn…) “Nor, love, _tesora_ , I’m so sorry I spoke to you and about you, that way. It was a dirty trick so I could get you out of there. You’re safe now. I promise. Are you okay?”

Just like that, after being shocked and suspicious and stupendously self-contained, Nor threw her arms around his neck and wept. _How can you be so forgiving…?_ Cassian lifted her and hugged her tight. Her heart fluttered like a Houjix. He ran his hand through her blue hair, whispering Mirialan explanations and assurances. At last, her heart steadied, her tears stopped, and she slumped over his shoulder in exhaustion.

“Are you all right?” he repeated, voice low as if the frequency could carry through her bones like a tooka’s purr, to soothe and knit back together. “Did they hurt you?”

“They grabbed my arm,” she said.

“Let me see.” He set her softly on her feet and took her hand, moving the limb carefully. They’d bruised her _(thefuckingfucks)_ but no breaks or sprains. “Your parents will be able to make this feel better. Where are they? Do they know where _you_ are?”

“No,” said Nor, still trembling, but also raising her chin with that spectacular fierceness. “I sneaked out.”

“Dear heart, _why?”_

“Because of Nova.”

The shockwave froze the city. At least, Cassian stopped seeing or hearing any of it. “…Nova?”

“Mama found her. She was really, really hurt. Mama got her home, and Mama and Avva have been trying to make her better. But she wouldn’t talk. Mama and Avva talked about what to do. They talked about getting you, but they didn’t know how to find you, and said they couldn’t go looking in case it made something happen to Thaeo and me. But she’s _so_ hurt, Neric. She might die. And you’re her _partner._ So _I_ came.” She reached up her sleeve _(oh skies)_ and pulled out a tiny scrap. It was the label off the water purifier Cassian had given them as part of Kariah’s payment. “This says it’s from Fort Garnik. So you must have gotten it there. So I thought you might be there now. So I came.”

“…Skies… Stars… _Nor.”_ Cassian pulled her in and hugged her again. She sank into him at once, this time and rested her head on his shoulder.

At last, Cassian set her down and looked into her eyes. “You are _brilliant._ You know that? You’ve been so clever and so brave. But, Norita, listen to me—you must _never_ do this again. Not until you’re grown enough that people can’t try to steal you away. They could have taken you anywhere and you couldn’t have gotten home. Your parents will be so scared. Don’t ever do this to them again, no matter how important. Always _talk_ to them, to help figure out what to do. Okay?”

Somewhere between somber and tears, she nodded.

Cassian kissed her forehead. “But _thank you,”_ he said, looking into her eyes again. “Thank you _so much.”_

She blinked and smiled.

He returned it and held out his hand. “Let’s get you home. Show your parents you’re okay. Go see Nova.”

As Nor drew herself up, Cassian saw in a flash how magnificent she was going to continue to grow up to be. He wished he could find the idea proud and not terrifying, on this planet, in this Galaxy, where most nonhumans and females of all species, of independence and ferocity, were made targets to break. He made a quick calculation: how old she would be, when. _I’ll find you. See if you want to enlist. Doesn’t matter if you don’t. I’ll train you either way. To defend yourself from this Galaxy. To help, to fight for others, like you’re doing already. Stars, Force, protect her ’til then. Let her be a child until she’s actually not. I won’t shorten that further. But I will come back. If I live that long. I swear._

⁂

_“Norâ!”_ ul’Auv fell to her knees, seizing her daughter in both arms and kissing her over and over. She burst into a stream of Delphidian that Cassian couldn’t follow, not least because she and Nor and Thaeo, who’d run over to hug eir sister from behind while ul’Auv hugged her in front, were all weeping. Kariah went to her knees beside them and all four hugged each other tightly, rocking and crying and speaking rapidly in three languages, voices weaving in and out of yelling and sobbing, berating and comforting, explaining and breaking down, exclaiming and thanking.

In the shadow of a wall, Cassian distantly wondered at this alien creature called _a Family._ Could he ever understand how it thought and felt and behaved? —in ways built by its constituent members, and other ways that seemed to transcend all of them into something elemental, across worlds?

ul’Auv stood, looked around, went to Cassian, and grabbed him in a hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

Cassian hugged her back. He stepped away at last and looked from her face to Kariah’s. “Nor said…?”

Kariah nodded, Nor and Thaeo in either arm. “This way.” She gently released and propelled her children toward ul’Auv; and she stood, nodding for Cassian to follow her. They moved around the outskirts of the room, watching the other three race to each other and collide in more hugs; and Nor started, abashed but rapidfire, to tell them everything.

In the rearmost doorway, Kariah suddenly caught Cassian’s arm.

“I’m sorry,” she said, eyes abject in a way he always knew. “I think this is my fault. I betrayed you. I sold the information about your rendezvous. They threatened my children.”

So _that’s_ how Jyn had known. “To the Shift?”

Kariah nodded miserably.

“I understand. That isn’t why this happened.” …Which was to say, probably not, who could tell? It _might_ be related. But even if it were, these choices, these missions, this planet, everything was interconnected. It would never come down solely to Kariah. He put a hand on her shoulder to meet her eyes. “I mean it.”

Kariah set her mirroring hand on his other shoulder; a closed circuit. Then she stepped aside and gestured him through.

⁂

The cold bit her to the bones and her body couldn’t stop trembling, simultaneously burning up, sweat on her skin. So much pain, so much hurt. Jyn tried to assess it… dropped the matter entirely. No point in trying. She couldn’t fix this. She didn’t care anymore.

_Let me go. I want it to stop._

_I’m too tired._

“You’re my best friend, Liana.”

_Yes. I know. Nova. Stay with me, please. I’m so lonely. Is it your body or mine? Did you have to agonize for so long? My sweet friend, you were so brave. Did I take your place finally? Are you alive now? Are you happy?_

Her gentle face smiled at her. Jyn cried the tears she thought she didn’t have anymore, and it made nothing to ease the suffering but Nova stayed close to her—her young, innocent voice murmuring soft words of comfort. She was the one holding Jyn this time, waiting for her to die, huddled together in the dark of Verisin prison. _Is this how it really happened?_

“You’re not very presentable” _,_ Nova said in a sad whisper.

_No, I’m not. I’m dying. That’s okay. I want to._

_Why do you look so different? You have blue hair, my sweet girl. Don’t cry for me, I don’t deserve it._

Jyn tried to raise her hand. She wanted to touch Nova’s face, to wipe her tears, to feel her warm and living and safe. Jyn’s arm didn’t agree with her. She stopped trying. She looked at the young girl… so much younger than she remembered, but _intact, unbroken, untamed._ Jyn was glad. Her mind spiraled into the black again, where everything felt cold and wrenching.

_Cassian. I wish Cassian was here._

Breathing hurt. Living hurt even more. She shouldn’t have been here anymore, how much longer? Or was it what death felt like? Was she trapped in here forever? Was it her penance for all the terrible things she had done? ‘ _That’s who’s going to die now,’_ he had said—and he surely meant _because of you_. He would hate her now, would never talk about her again, or only to tell them how she had ruined everything. She knew she had. She had told herself she didn’t have the luxury of a choice, and it wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t true either.

_I did it. It was me. I should have pushed you away. I chose to tell you about my feelings. I was selfish. I wanted you._

“Cassian…”

_Let me say it one last time._

She looked down, seeing her broken body on bloodied, dusty ground, where she’d been left for dead… but, no—suddenly, it was the marble expanse of a ballroom floor. Her indigo dress flowed like the caress of the ocean around her.

She raised her eyes and he _was_ there; _Cassian_ holding out his hand, wrapping her in his arms, beginning to move her, both of them together, swirling like galaxies through the space, all to themselves, no one else; dancing like he’d taught her, making love like she’d taught him.

“Let me say it,” Jyn whispered, fearing it was her last chance.

Cassian disagreed or didn’t hear. “I can’t fix this,” was what he said. “I need to get you med help.”

Help— ? Her body pressed to his, her silken sheath suddenly soaked with warm blood, gliding over her feverish skin. Jyn feared that they had been discovered. They would get him, too, if he stayed. He had to get away before it was too late—she had heard the bombing and the fights.

“No,” she answered. “I can’t. Leave me.”

“Jyn—you’ll die—”

“I know. I can’t take this anymore,” she miserably confessed, “let me go. It’s okay… just let me go.”

“I won’t.”

“I told you,” Jyn breathed, trying to raise her hand again. This time, she was able to touch his face softly ( _so beautiful… so warm…_ ), if only for a few seconds before her arm dropped back down, defeated. “Stop trying to save me.”

_— You know I have to._

“Don’t make me,” Cassian implored, holding onto her as the floor swirled beneath them. “Don’t make me lose you. _Please…_ The Rebellion won’t get here in time. Can the Shift?”

“The Shift…” Jyn repeated, her mind crumbling down around her. Verisin. Bombing. Imgiri. Recruitment. Missions. “Yes… they’re waiting for me. They need to know… I haven’t had the time… They don’t know— ”

“Tell me how to reach them.”

“I can’t. You know I can’t, I can never give them up… I’ve been trained for this, never— we have to die without telling… What if you’re not real? What if it’s not you? What if I betray them? All those people would die because of me… Too many… already.”

“Jyn,” said Cassian urgently, “listen. It’s me. We’re real. I’m at your bedside in ul’Auv and Kariah’s house. You’re mortally injured and talking in your dreams. And _I am telling you the truth._ Please. Jyn. Tell me how to save you.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m so sorry, my love… You have to let me go… I want to tell you—”

“If you’re sorry,” he whispered, touching her face with his, “then _stay with me.”_

The destroyed cell/ballroom disappeared, engulfed into solid darkness. Jyn stilled to hold him. He bent to her and it almost felt real—the touch of his forehead to hers. His voice cracked, breathing: “Jyn. My only love. I’m sorry, too. I’m _so, so sorry._ Please stay. With me.”

She closed her eyes to feel nothing but the touch of him, against her, inside her, on her face—savoring the scratch of his shadow and shiver of lashes and warmth of breath. Maybe… if he said the truth… could she still walk away from this? Could he make her stop hurting? But if she was wrong—

“Can you prove it?” she whispered finally. “Can you prove it’s you?”

“Ask me. Anything.”

She didn’t know what to ask. She could be hallucinating everything. She could be drugged, interrogated by the Empire. She could be under extraction protocol, giving away crucial intel about the Shift, destroying everything they had fought for. Everything she already knew of him… could just be something _she_ was now providing—to “them”, to herself. Something she didn’t know… anyone could’ve faked it. She couldn’t figure this out, not now, not anymore. Jyn fought to draw another breath, a painful sob in her throat.

“I don’t know… Cassian, I don’t know…”

_— Let me try. Give me a chance to figure this out._

He drew back his face. She could _hear_ his mind racing. She cracked her eyes open to gaze at him, his now-familiar features, always so beautiful.

“After the Lady Fate, when you saved me, during the night,” he said, “I was dreaming like you are and said something in my dad’s language. It didn’t seem like one you knew. Do you remember?”

“You said something I didn’t recognize. That doesn’t happen a lot… but I can’t remember the words.”

“Would you recognize if I said them again?”

“I don’t know.”

 _“ ‘Quiero decirte’_.”

Her breath caught, all of her body pulling her down, dragging her underwater mercilessly. She had to fight so kriffin’ hard to grip onto the edges of her consciousness, whatever conscious she could really be. “Yes,” Jyn mumbled, blood pooling in the back of her mouth. “I remember. What does it mean?”

“ _‘I want to tell you.’_ I still do.”

She pleaded, fading away. “…So tell me.”

Cassian framed her face in his hands. He kissed her, drawing out the blood like she’d drawn the poison, and kept their brows pressed together as he spoke hoarse and low.

She listened.

“My name is Cassian Andor. Commander, Alliance Intelligence. My partner is an ex-Imperial droid, K-2SO. I was a Separatist when I was six years old. I was a Rebel when I was sixteen. I’ve been a soldier, recruiter; spy, saboteur, assassin. I’ve done terrible things on behalf of the Rebellion. Every time I walked away from something I wanted to forget, I told myself it was for a cause that I believed in—a cause that was worth it. Without that, I was lost. Then _you found me._ I don’t know if I can go back to who I was. I don’t know that I want to. I know I need you alive. If I never see you again, if we _do_ go back to who we were, if we fight on different sides, it doesn’t matter, as long as I know you’re in this universe. _Mi estrella, mi alma, mi vida…_ I _do_ believe in the Force. Like your mother said. The Force gave me to you. You told me not to… and I never really did; but just this once, _please—!_ help me, let me, save you. Jyn. _Jyn._ _Please.”_

She exhaled nebulas and binary suns.

Jyn grabbed this hand, feeling her grip trembling and menacing to fall away. “You have to… use my transponder… comm ‘Citadel’. Tell her… tell her ‘Monsoon.’ Firefly is extinct, requesting red zero… friendly support, bravo-rogue-crimson-zerek-nine-quasar-seven-one.”

Her voice dropped lower, frailing, “You have it? Bravo-rogue—”

“ _Bravo-rogue-crimson-zerek-nine-quasar-seven-one_ ,” Cassian repeated at once.

“Yes… They’ll tell you what to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That was a LOT. ❤️ Hope you liked it, thank you for your comments! Next chapter should be... very different ;)


	17. Parallax

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **parallax** _(astronomy, general)_ the apparent shift of position of an object against the background of distant objects

**17: Parallax**

The unauthorized transport landed in the Scraplands. Cassian and Kariah watched its rapid descent over the rims of their filtration masks. Unaware of her own mask, slung between them, was Jyn.

The loading ramp began to drop before the _Curich_ -class shuttle completely touched down, clearing the way for three individuals in military-grade attires to jump on the Mantellian ground. Each of them cradled a rifle in their arms, faces protected by breathing helmets. They quickly advised Jyn, heading straight towards the waiting party. One of them—designated leader—let the weapon hang across his body, reaching for something at his waist. Cassian braced, holding Jyn closer. The man pushed Jyn’s head backward, spreading gloved fingers on her face to (in all probabilities) get a retinal scan.

“Identity confirmed,” a muffled voice said, “Liana Hallik. Get her on board.” He let her head drop back, clapping fingers at his team. The two others made a move to retrieve Jyn from Cassian’s care.

Cassian didn’t let go. “I’m coming with her.”

“I don’t think so,” said his interlocutor like a man used to being obeyed at first glance. “She’ll send you a holocard. Move along.”

Peripherally, Cassian saw Kariah also holding her ground, and looking at him.

Cassian looked at the leader in a drastically different way than Willix would have glared. This guy would see through Willix in a moment. By that same token, he would _recognize_ Cassian. _“I’m coming with her,”_ Cassian repeated very low.

Tension flared up between the two groups. The leader stepped in front of Cassian, facing him so closely that he could outline the details of his face through the visor. “And who the fuck are you?”

 _The idiot who gave her White Snake without meaning to?_ Before Cassian could open his mouth, Jyn grabbed the front of the man’s uniform. Unable to look up or to stand on her own, she still mumbled in Mirialan: “ _Zeke…? Shut the fuck up and get me out. He’s coming._ ”

Zeke growled, visibly displeased, but took a step back. “Let’s roll. Everybody load up.”

He didn’t want to let go. Jyn should know, every second, _she had him._ But this was important, too. So Cassian hung back, took Kariah’s arm, and whispered in her ear, “If your family ever needs the Alliance: _‘Fulcrum - Candor - By the light of Lothal’s moons’._ Got it?”

Kariah’s arm slipped through his hand until they gripped each other’s wrists. —Then she startled him: “Your name is _Cassian_? She kept repeating that.”

No feelings. Have them later. “Yes. You have it?”

Kariah nodded. _“Thank you.”_

They let go and that was that. Cassian spared no more time for Ord Mantell.

The newcomers had started to drag Jyn the rest of the distance, her body collapsing toward the floor, when Cassian caught up and seized her again in his arms. The interior of the ship had been stripped to the bones, reconverted for military purposes. Brief obscurity flashed around them as the cargo door sealed shut. Red emergency lights took over the next second, followed by cold white lights flashing from ground level.

“Lay her down,” Zeke called, stripping down from his helmet—as did the others. One Human male, one Theelin female, and a third individual whose species Cassian wasn’t familiar with (maybe… Shaull, if he had to take a guess).

Cassian didn’t ask for permission to stay beside her. His efficiency and her acceptance made the others not bother to challenge him. They moved around in silence, operating as a trained team. The other Human crouched down next to Jyn, pulling a sharp pair of scissors from a medkit, and began to cut through her clothes. “ _Well, shit, what did you do? Eager to leave us, Hallik?_ ” Whether it had a hint at familiarity or disdain, Cassian couldn’t tell. Jyn didn’t answer.

They continued cutting and peeling away her clothes layer by layer. As the vest went, something slipped from her pocket with a soft _clink_ to the floor. Cassian was there like a shot. He picked up the engraved pendant. (Her mother’s. _Trust in the Force.)_ He stepped aside for those working and stuck the crystal in his own breast pocket.

“Sweet dreams, sister,” said the Theelin, injecting something in Jyn’s neck. Then, finally, she slipped into a merciful pain-free unconsciousness.

“Give me the plasma bag, and find me a vein,” Zeke asked. “We need to boost her up for the flight. She needs to be in a tank like yesterday. She’s filling up with her own blood. I don’t know— ”

“She made it that far,” the other cut with a cold voice. “Just do your job.”

Cassian watched, every millisecond, with time-slowing eyes. When the Shaull with the IV needle couldn’t thread it, Cassian elbowed them aside and did the injection himself. If they hadn’t had the synthetic plasma, he would have stuck the other end in his own arm.

They’d gotten Jyn as stable as they were going to. Cassian had a moment to glance at a window and belatedly notice they’d jumped to hyperspace.

“I’m gonna have to search that,” said the Shaull of Cassian’s courier bag.

Cassian unslung it over his head, dropped it to the deck, and kicked it to slide it over. The bag held the belongings he’d not abandoned back in Willix’s quarters: a whopping four data cards and one spare pair of boots. (Never take sound footwear for granted.) Everything else, brimming over, were the weapons and scandocs they’d confiscated from their various attackers over the course of the mission. Cassian had disconnected all charge cells. The Shaull still looked sharply at him.

“Requisitions for hand-me-downs,” said Cassian.

The Shaull grunted in what might have been approval and put the blaster they’d been holding back into the bag. And tossed it aside beside the bulwark.

“I didn’t catch your name,” Zeke said, scanning Cassian with a cautious attitude.

“I didn’t drop it.” Cassian didn’t have enough information to choose what to give them. He’d go with whatever Jyn said if she spoke again while half-conscious. Hell, they only knew _her_ by an alias. ( _—I haven’t told that name to anyone since I was sixteen_ )

“I don’t like you,” the man decided.

“Yeah,” said Cassian, “me, neither.”

When it caught up to Zeke that that _wasn’t_ an answering insult, it actually gave him pause.

Next to him, the Theelin clicked her tongue. “Just look at his face. That poor bastard is having a hella rough day, cut him some slack.”

“ _I don’t give a shit if he buried his whole family before breakfast,_ ” Zeke broke into rapid Mirialan. “ _My job is to keep you alive, stupid. We’ll sort that out with Citadel. I want to know what he’d done. Something went very wrong on that fucking assignment._ ”

“Genius,” she snarled. “Thanks for the input, wouldn’t have guessed seeing her beaten to death—”

“Sitara, _enough_.” The third voice stopped them like frozen water.

Cassian kept his eyes on all of them as he knelt again at Jyn’s side. He slipped his fingers to her wrist; give her the tiniest bit of the warmth she credited to him.

“I’m going to report to base,” decided Zeke and headed out to the pilot section. “Tell them about the hitchhiker.”

“Tell ’em I said _Salut,”_ said Cassian, the last word Mirialan.

The man twitched in his stance, glanced back, lips pressed tight with a contained irritation… and turned back, shaking his head.

A raspy laugh followed his departure. The Theelin with bright lime hair named ‘Sitara’ secured the IV bag above Jyn’s bunk. “Don’t let him piss you off,” she smirked, “his personality is eighty percent asshole. But he means well, we try to teach him some manners when we can.”

“Oh, no,” said Cassian, “after all the duplicitous snakes on Ord Mantell, honesty is _great._ ”

“I bet.” She slapped a heavy hand on his shoulder. “If Liana trusts you, that’s good enough for me. I like you.”

“Thank you.” ( _Liana. Gabrael. Nova. Fulcrum._ He wondered if an earnest observer would count _them_ among the snakes.)

Everyone finally settled in for the flight. Cassian sat on the edge of Jyn’s bunk. He murmured the lyrics to _My Star_ , told her nonsense stories from the mythologies of a dozen worlds, and stayed droid-level vigilant to her condition, with one hand on hers and the other cupping her face and neck. The only time he talked to anyone else was when he felt her pulse abruptly drop and he shouted for a stim injection. For the most part, the infusion did its work… and he held onto her.

They landed, quick and smooth, in the middle of an enclosed airfield. Sitara tapped Cassian’s shoulder, gesturing for him to get on his feet, while she freed the IV bag and placed it on Jyn, ready for transport. The ion engines shut down under them, pulling the ship vibrations to a halt. The back slope started to break open, filling the cargo area with a cold, dry atmosphere, and the remnants of dying sunlight. The on-board crew went through the landing checklist, letting the curious team free to disembark. Zeke had reappeared, the same frown on his face, gear under an arm, and walked outside without sparing a single glance at Cassian.

“Move your ass,” Zeke barked at someone. “Get that stretcher in there. She doesn’t get all day.”

“See, told ya,” Sitara said, as more people flooded inside to transfer Jyn to a med-unit.

Cassian spared her a comradely look—genuine _and_ tactical; so far she was his only seeming ally—before inserting himself into the group transferring Jyn. Or tried to.

“Wait there,” the other Human stopped him with the mussel of his rifle. “You need to be evaluated before we let you roam free—”

“I can supervise him,” said Sitara. “I’m going with her, too. Want them to do everything properly, those damn recruits.”

Zeke looked like he stood very close to hitting a critical outburst of anger. Still unaware of the power dynamic in their team (if any), Cassian wondered who would have the final word on that matter.

Smiling his best ‘you’re a real pain in my ass’ at Sitara, Zeke lowered his weapon. “Fine, keep an eye on your new boyfriend. Shit will be on you if anything goes wrong, hope you know that.”

Cassian mustered the restraint to stay at Sitara’s side rather than sprint to keep up with Jyn.

“Well, c’mon,” the Theelin said with the same energy in her voice, “and don’t make me shoot you. I don’t want beef with Liana.”

 _ **That** could be a way to join her in medical._ He fell in step. Before locking into recon, he confirmed the tiny weight of Jyn’s crystal on his chest.

From what Cassian could see, most of the Separatist base had been carved into a grey rock cliff. They walked into a large room with high ceiling, equipment, transports, _people_ , maintenance airshed most probably. It all resonated with every Rebel base Cassian had known. Following a straight path to a back door, the daylight got lost behind them, replaced by an artificial glow as they progressed deeper into the structure— inside the mountains.

The med-unit was nothing more than a glorified field hospital, but although the material seemed outdated, everything still perfectly served its purpose. Already, two medics were lowering Jyn, down to her underwear, into a bathtub filled at three quarters with bacta-fluid. Behind them, a biped droid with a chipped grey paint and missing its right arm sternly read through the initial assessment made by the extraction team, jumping her case into the next hands.

“Set her up for an eighteen-hour cycle,” said one of the medics, “and see if her prognosis changes.”

Sitara growled, shifting the strap of her rifle over her shoulder, and stepped closer—to make sure _they did everything properly._ Through the translucent fluid surrounding her, Jyn’s injuries looked even more horrific. Her whole body was bruised, but her midsection had turned a dangerous shade of purple, subsequent to severe internal bleeding. The bacta level didn’t reach her airways, but they decided to hook her up to an oxygen tank regardless, letting her float weightless, her hair spread around her face as it had been in the ocean.

“That will do,” Sitara said, unclear if she was talking to Cassian/the medics/herself. “Want to tell me stories while we wait?”

Cassian’s eyes were locked on Jyn. The horrible sight of her so still and hurt resounded like a shot to all the spinning afterimages in his mind—her singlehandedly taking down his assailants, moving like a comet in her gala dress, letting him uncover her piece by piece in the lighthouse, standing silhouetted against the sea and sky… …fighting with him on the ship…

…encircling each other in peace and at rest…

When his heart and mind were utterly incapable, programming took over. “Fiction or nonfiction?”

The Theelin shrugged, slouching with her back to the wall to sit on the floor. She extended her legs in front of her, reaching for an inner pocket—checking a small comlink. “Want to know how you two got mingled together,” she said. “But whichever is fine. I don’t like the silence in here, it’s not good.”

“We met by accident,” he said from far away; eyes fixed on the battered figure in the tank. “We could tell there were things not being said. We kept an eye on each other. She helped me out of a bad situation, then I helped her out of one. We decided to team up. It helped fulfill her mission.”

“Eh, that’s nice,” Sitara said. “Liana, she always goes solo. I told her that would get her into deep shit, but she likes it better. She’s not much of a team player… guess I have more arguments for next time, now.”

 _Next time._ He couldn’t afford to think about a ‘next time’. What shape would that take? What kind of Galaxy would they be in? What kind of people would they be?

 _…fulfill **her** mission._ Not his. But…

…vacc’ing…

…wait a minute.

He tore enough of his gaze off of Jyn to scan around. He was here—in person, with its members _—_ in the heart of the Shift.

The Shift and the Alliance hadn’t agreed to any direct meetings in years. Nothing owed to one another—no go-betweens, no bridge like the cooperation (even edited) and reciprocal salvation of two of their elite agents. He didn’t know what he could do with this, but if he could salvage anything—make good on any aspect of his mission—do something, if not for the POWs he’d failed, then at least for the cause they served—then he had to try.

(Even, barely whispered within himself: justify him and Jyn to their teams. And just maybe…)

“Actually,” Cassian turned to face Sitara; “I do have more to tell.”

“I bet you do,” she snorted. “I was letting you warm up.”

“Ideally to someone authorized to parley.”

“ _Parley_? Oh black moon, don’t tell me we’ve taken in a lost Rebel. Kinda hoped you were a smuggler or something.” She deeply sighed. “Zeke won’t ever let me hear the end of this… Well, I guess you gotta be assessed after all.”

“Okay. I’ll cooperate.”

Sitara was on her feet again the next moment, gesturing for him to follow. She opened her comlink and said: “Bringing POI to debrief, notify Citadel STAT.”

He’d reclaimed his messenger bag when they’d disembarked. Now, Cassian unslung it again. Movements exaggeratedly clear, he removed his blasters and vibroblade, dropped them in the bag, and offered it to Sitara.

She took the bag but looked at him, possibly, pityingly. “You know if she can’t wake up to confirm any of whatever you’re about to say, you’ve just blasted your foot off.”

“Better than trying to blast my way through all of you.” They’d’ve searched and disarmed him anyway. “I’m not here to widen rifts or cause more pain.” Every way he could optimize this nebulous chance was one he’d take.

Also, _Don’t think about her not waking up._

Sitara’s mouth tightened. “Yeah, well… it’s not up to me, anyway.”

“I know. I appreciate your help.”

 _“I_ still want to hear the rest of the story if you get off in one piece.”

Sitara led them through a maze of corridors, kilometers of heavy-duty cables running above their heads to distribute power in the many sectors the base seemed to possess. They encounter a noticeable amount of people along the way, from various species and age-range, commuting or simply talking among themselves, filling the little concave chambers carved on each side of the tunnels. More surprising, Cassian didn’t expect to step aside to let a pair of laughing-screaming children run past them. But of course. No cause like theirs would just be soldiers. They were for and composed of everybody.

“ _No running inside!”_ Sitara called after them, but they were already gone. “Those little smonks.”

“It’s good to see children being children,” said Cassian. (Echoed talk with Jyn…) “Even on a military base.”

“We got a shitload of them, each time a new batch of refugees lands from the Burke’s. The hard part is to keep them occupied, terrible attention span,” she laughed. “Thanks the Force they can just go outside during the daytime and blast the ears of someone else. Gotta make you wish for a new assignment in no time, trust me. Here, get in there.”

She unlocked a secured room using a small numeripad and stepped aside. Cassian took in the room quickly and stepped in.

“Someone will come,” she informed him, “sit tight.” And the door slid shut.

Cassian sat very still and sorted his mind. Everything that wasn’t necessary faded. For this moment, he could follow the narrow tunnel of _objective._ He’d figure out each chance as they came.

It took some time but eventually, the door opened again.

Stepping in the (interrogation) room: a Mirialan with forest-green skin and dark hair, black ink covering her forehead, chin and under-eyes in geometrical patterns. She wore the same unidentifiable uniform as the rest of them, stripped from any rank of insignia, but the way she carried herself spoke volume to a trained observer. She silently dragged one of the vacant chairs in front of Cassian and sat with a straight posture.

“Do you know what that is?” she asked, her voice laced with a strong Out-Rimean accent. She held a small darted vial in between two fingers. Cassian leaned to look. “Teccitin. Just so you’re aware that if you try something stupid, you’ll be dead before you move from that chair.”

Cassian raised an eyebrow and unfastened his cuffs. He shoved the sleeves of his jacket and shirt up to his elbow and rested his bared forearm pointedly upward: veins on offer.

She curled the slightest edge of lips and nodded. “I’m Imgiri Raa. We talked earlier. Welcome to the Third State Federation, Rebel.”

“It’s Cassian Andor, Commander, Alliance to Restore the Republic. Was it you who rescued her from the Tenloss Syndicate?”

“My people and me, yes.” Her face stayed perfectly relaxed but she said in a very deliberate manner: “That’s interesting you would know that.”

“She told me. I asked her to deliver a message to you. Now, I can deliver it myself.” In Mirialan: _“Je vous remercie.”_

The ghost of a smile brushed the corner of her mouth. “I can see what went down there… _Je t’en prie. We don’t pass on the opportunities to make bad people meet their gods sooner than later._ ”

Cassian let his expression darken. He switched in and out of Mirialan and Basic. “I wish the Alliance could say the same. _Même si, et je ne vous apprends rien,_ on Ord Mantell alone, _sometimes it’s good people doing bad things and bad people doing good things._ Sometimes we do prioritize the acts over who commits them.”

“I’ve been told by your people, many times. I believe they tried to teach it to me like I’m a petulant child. But do tell me, since you just thanked me, do you think we should’ve overlooked Tenloss to not jeopardize Rebel armament agendas?”

“I’m not up on that one. Personally, I’m glad you didn’t. But there’s no one solution for everything. We can only judge each event as it comes.”

Imgiri’s dark eyes scanned him, cataloging, analyzing. “You’re evidently the one they sent to exfil Liana’s mark, yet you’ve got my agent back under escort. Either you’re terribly compromised or trying to salvage the last crumbs by getting something out of me. Which is it?”

 _Transparency._ So rare, in his line of work, as the right play. You’d think it would feel satisfying. “Can’t it be both? We worked together as long as our objectives coincided. When they didn’t, we stopped. Then… pretty much: she beat me. Doesn’t mean I wanted her to die. So, yeah: I failed to save our prisoners. If I can still get anything out of the work, I’ll take it, in their honor. Even if it’s just this conversation.”

A thoughtful pause. “Do they use you for recruitment yet? They should.”

Depending on one’s understanding of the nature of recruitment… from Imgiri, Cassian sensed it was a positive. “I was the Fulcrum agent in the Albarrio sector. And some for the Confederacy of Independent Systems when I was just starting out.”

“Interesting,” Imgiri noted again. “I had contact with them for a while. Co-op with Xol Khryw, if the name sounds familiar to you.”

Cassian didn’t hide his astonishment. “…Yes… She had scars around her eyes and mouth from removing her tattoos. She saved my life when I was six years old and brought me to the CIS. MIA in 3262, presumed dead.”

“ _Navrée de l’entendre_. To think that this Galaxy is so vast… and here we are. Tell me, Cassian Andor, don’t you ever think of jumping ship?”

“No. When the Separatist movement—” the next word was the bitterest he knew: _“—‘backfired’,_ I never meant to believe in anything again. But if I don’t… I was too young to choose the CIS. I did choose the Alliance. I don’t know if we’ll ever accomplish what we want, but I can believe in the want. I know that’s what they’ll try, whether or not I get to see it.”

“A loyalist at heart, my favorite kind.” She flipped the poisoned dart into her hand. “What do _you_ want, then? And don’t tell me my agent, because I can’t give her up.”

 _Transparency._ Minus maybe _yes, her._ “Something good, out of this. Not being enemies? Pooling our resources, even? in case I can salvage any of the intel we meant to get out of White Snake. Seeing if Liana—” (he’d spent some of his vigil at her bunkside reprogramming himself to use _that_ pseudonym automatically) “—and I cooperating could… help… build something. The rift between the Shift and Rebellion goes far back. Has anyone checked in recently to confirm it holds?”

“It does, competing for the same resources doesn’t make us good friends. But maybe I didn’t talk to the right person. If I get you back to your people alive and with the intel you want, you can’t give me any guarantee that I’ll get something I want in return. I need to blindly trust in the trust _you_ have. I’ll be putting all those people at risk just because you asked nicely? I tried to play nice once, but the Alliance didn’t want to share with us.”

“The Rebellion,” Cassian corrected carefully. “We only became _the Alliance_ this year. That might be a change beyond a name. Rebellions can be more… purist. An alliance must work with groups’ differences, or it’s not unifying anyone. Is no alliance at all. …I told you, I’m a Fulcrum. There are calls I’m authorized to make that will be binding. You’re right; most things, I can’t guarantee, but, some, I might. What sort of thing would you want?”

“I told you. I want them to play nice and share: I want trading accords.”

“Those, I couldn’t negotiate, but I could introduce you to who can. And guarantee your safety in and out of the meeting.”

Imgiri laughed. “My life is like yours, it means nothing in this war. If it’s not me, someone else will step in my place. But I appreciate your concerns. Tell me about the intel.”

Jyn already had it; and even if she didn’t, the Shift was not who they feared getting it. “Five high-clearance agents were captured by or sold to Black Sun. We know they’re alive, but we don’t know where they’re being held, or how much longer they can hold against interrogation or be killed.”

“Any of them working Intel?” she asked.

“Two of them. Though all five know things that could help a lot of people, or hurt them if Black Sun gets them and sells to the Empire.”

In the space of a nod, Imgiri changed everything. “I’ll get you the localization of those people, and you’ll get your agents to share any information they may have gathered on the Imperial acquisition spike. _What do you say?_ ”

He dared to breathe. That was precisely what Maddel carried, what White Snake had dangled, and the most looming issue for the Alliance. If it was as they thought, they would agree that _everyone_ non-Imperial should mobilize. It also, possibly, was the one of the five testimonies where he couldn’t foresee the Shift doing anything incompatible with what the Alliance would also do. It was a better deal by lightyears than he’d hoped to see on the table. And, yes, something Cassian had the authority to decide.

The one thing he’d say for the Empire: of all the forces at play in the Galaxy, the Empire was singularly unambiguous. They were a great common enemy.

Cassian reached forward and opened the hand of his bared arm. _“Agreed.”_

Imgiri pressed her palm into his and held it, locking eyes with him so acutely she could’ve seen right through his soul.

He gave her the five names.

She let go of him and stood up. “You’re free to walk around while I take care of this. Eat something. Food isn’t rationed here, the many benefits to sit on an agriworld.”

He stood in her wake, rolling down his sleeves. “Thank you. I suspect you know where I’ll be.”

“I’ll know,” she tilted her head and walked out. He waited until he wouldn’t be right on her heels, then followed her out.

Cassian took the invitation to walk around. He took in everything, checking off facets Draven would ask about. He’d be remiss not to canvass, even when he wasn’t here to infiltrate. But soon as he could, he was back in Medical, watching for Jyn to wake up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note from Overthinking-Is-My-Golf Merry: many thoughts on the use of contemporary Earth natural languages (including English) for _“a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away”_ , which go from easter eggery to academic to political. But my intentions don’t matter versus how things actually land for people. So, I don’t want to give those thoughts preemptively or uninvited, or eclipse all else. If anyone wants to have that convo, I’d be delighted; it could even have its own comment thread. Fluent speakers: I’d be especially eager to hear from you, if any language use—this chapter or anywhere—is problematic. I’d be so grateful for any notes you care to give, especially if there’s something I should remove or try to improve. Otherwise, please enjoy/focus on the rest!  
> (PS mea culpa, I bullied poor Moira into the French in this chapter, even though she’s fluent and I’m not.)


	18. Twilight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **twilight** _(astronomy)_ The time after sunset or before sunrise when the sky is not fully dark. Astronomical twilight ends after sunset (and begins before sunrise) when the Sun is 18° below the horizon.

**18: Twilight**

Jyn noticed the absence of pain above anything else. No, untrue— a lesser pain. Distant, diluted, masked by chemicals, so unlike the agonizing suffering she still hauntingly remembered that it could be disregarded entirely.

So, she didn’t die. That was something. How did that happen?

Her recollection of memories felt fragile, unsure. Her sluggish mind had trouble working, let alone tell her what she needed to know: where, when, who. She probably had a hint of ‘where’, listening to the ambient sounds: slow beeping, machinery, instruments clicking sometimes, undifferentiated voices… probably a medical unit. Yes— would explain how she was still alive, too. The ‘when’ was hopeless. She had no track of time anymore. As to ‘who’… she didn’t need to search farther, her right side was warmer than the rest of her.

Jyn took a tentative breath, chest heavy, tender. The events slowly fell back into their slots, in the right order. The evac, the team… _I’m coming with her._ She had no explanation for this; how he’d been there and how he didn’t seem to hate her—but she was shamefully grateful for it. That, from all places, she could wake up with him on Genassa and be thankful to still be alive for once in her life.

Too dazed, still, to open her eyes fully, Jyn simply moved her face, searching for him.

There he was. His arms were folded on the pallet beside her, his head laid down on his arms. Even asleep, his hand held onto hers. She wanted to speak, but that wasn’t happening yet. She still tried to let him know that _‘hey, look, I’m not dead.’_ Wondering if it would be enough, forcing some feeling back into her extremities for control, she managed to squeeze his hand.

His head lifted at once. He squinted exhaustion-shadowed eyes. When they focused on her, he sat bolt upright. “Jyn?” His voice was so hoarse, she could weep. “You awake?”

She tried the voice thing again, producing a low noise in her throat that didn’t sound anywhere near a ‘yes’.

He still seemed to get it. “It’s okay. Hang on.” He half-turned away. His hand stayed tight on hers. The other did something out of sight until he turned back to her, leaning forward, and touched a drink dispenser to her hand. “You have a hydration infuser but that doesn’t help your throat. Bacta can kark it up.”

The idea of drinking cool water seemed like the most wonderful thing she had ever experienced. She couldn’t quite nod, so she squeezed his hand again. He slipped his arm (always so kriffing gentle) under her shoulders and held her to make sure her head tilted comfortably. He brought the dispenser to her lips. Even half-choking on it, the liquid dissolving that _terrible_ taste of bacta was worth the trouble.

She took another gulp of air, thankful that her neck still allowed her to do so, and finally managed to exhale back: “Cassian.”

Just like that, his calm was gone. He pressed his face to the side of hers, breathing like he was crying. “ _Le agradezco—_ Jyn, _forgive me.”_

Wait— _what_?

The shock ran through her. She wasn’t sure she could, but she _had_ to, so she tried to move her arms (noticing with some satisfaction that all of her limbs were still attached, too). With hesitant gestures, she conquered that small step and held his shoulders in an unperfect hug. He shuddered—in relief. He lifted his head to kiss her temple.

Then he got himself together. He set the dispenser aside and eased her back onto the pillows, cradling her head. “You’re on heavy pain meds and muscle relaxants; to protect against involuntary motion, while your organs are healing up. That’s why it’s hard for you to move or speak. If you want a datapad or… But there’s no rush. You can go back to sleep. I’ll be here.”

Drifting back into sleep sounded nice. Staying with him sounded nicer.

Fuck her body; she badly wanted to reach for his hand, so she did. Almost missed it. Okay. She understood what he meant with muscle relaxants. She grew irritated, displeased by the state of her being when her mind was quickly catching up to full speed. How long would that last? But— _I’ll be here._ Meaning: Cassian planned on staying on Genassa for a little while, she imagined at least a few days. How did that work out? Were the others aware of his identity? Did they already debrief him? So many interrogations, and all she could think about was: “Cassian… I like to be warm.”

Seemed he’d been waiting to be asked. He slipped free of her to stand. —but for a moment just stayed there, hand on her forehead, smoothing back her hair. Then he pulled something from his breast pocket, leaned over her, and fastened it around her neck. _…Oh my… that’s… Mom’s?…_ His arms went beneath her again. Meticulously, he shifted her over and laid her back down. Under the arch of her neck, his arm slipped through ’til it was his shoulder pillowing her head. He lay down, fitting himself to her side, sealing them together with his other hand upon her breastbone. (Not her stomach, which she figured was where ‘organs were healing up’; not her lungs, either, no burdening compression.) She turned toward him, at least able to do _that_ much without feeling like a slug, and closed her eyes. Their breath mingled and matched up. Nothing mattered anymore to Jyn.

The last she heard before drifting off was his whisper, “Welcome home.”

⁂

“Reach your right hand above your head, please,” the one-arm droid repeated for the third time.

“You’re not listening to me,” Jyn growled, exasperated. “I can do all this shit, alright? Sign my kriffin’ discharge.”

“You haven’t been cleared for release yet. I detect a lot of irritation in your voice. Irritation can be a symptom of post-concussion syndrome. Do you have any dizziness, fatigue, memory loss, anxiety or depression— ?”

“For Force’s sake,” she exhaled, sitting on the edge of her bed. Not _her_ bed. That kriffing medbay bed she had been forced to stay in for the past three days. She was so over it. Urgently. Her tone murderous: “ _No_.”

“Satisfactory. Reach your right hand over your head, please.”

In a chair against the wall, Cassian was pretending not to watch, while also pretending, behind his hand, not to laugh. She shot him a menacing glare, too, but smirked a little and—finally—raised her fucking hand above her head. The droid finished the eval of her motor function, tapping on a small datapad she was dying to snatch from his hand.

“Thank you for your cooperation,” he flatly commented. “You may resume.”

Resume? Resume _what_? Looked like she wasn’t the only one who should’ve been assessed. Maybe some upgrade on the communication algorithm. Jyn would’ve lied saying the idea of slicing into the med-unit to remedy that problem _and_ simultaneously authorize her release didn’t cross her mind.

Knowing his store of patience was less depleted than hers, Cassian spoke up: “Clarify ‘resume’?”

Having already moved away, the droid only turned his head toward them, offering a bizarre display of anatomy. “Cooperative relationships.”

“As in: release cleared?”

“Correct.”

“Thanks _fuck!_ ” Jyn screamed and jumped on her feet. ‘Jump’ might have been an exaggeration, but it felt like it after being immobilized and impaired beyond her will. Cassian stood to match her, refraining from too obviously prepping in case she needed to be caught.

“Jedi on a gundark,” he murmured as they exited the room. “I thought Kay was bad patching me up in the field. Nothing like having him list all possible complications while resetting a bone.”

“This guy is a little old and has seen some stuff, we might need to reassign him. Kay— he’s your partner, right?” Jyn curiously asked, leading them to sector 3.

“Right.” Cassian seemed surprised, either that he had told her about him at all, or that he hadn’t told her more. “Kaytoo. He’s a KX security droid. We stole and reprogrammed him from the Empire. Not designed to be a medic. It’s my fault, making him try.”

“From all models, you really went for a KX. You’re a terrible spy,” she said. “But I’m sure he’s having more fun quoting all your likelihood to die than whatever he did for the Imps.”

“He says so. The Imps didn’t make him able to feel _fun.”_ There was a lot behind that statement, which he lightened (sort of) with a sidelong, “You know them.”

Jyn reached for his hand, still apprehensive of who might see it, unwilling to give anyone leverage on him _or_ herself. She might have been in familiar territories, but Cassian wasn’t here on vacation. She ought to be careful of their… relationship. Keeping close in medbay was one thing, exposing them to unnecessary prying a completely different level of carelessness. But holding his hand in the darkness of the mountain base would have to cut it, because she needed to.

That level of transparency—of _truthfulness_ they were actually getting to inhabit… was… _really weird._ They kept having to remind themselves and each other that it wasn’t a slip-up: they truly _didn’t have to lie._ Cassian had capped their miracle by applying such honesty, divulging so much, there was nothing likely to come up in company that they’d need to hide. The one exception: he held to calling her ‘Liana’ when anyone could hear. It might have been surer, less likely to slip, if he just switched to using it all the time; but entrusting their true names was so precious, when they were in private, he returned to ‘Jyn’ every time. She didn’t try to discourage him.

At the end of sector 3, they stepped into the covered air-sheds and Jyn could feel her feet moving faster toward the gates. Then, _finally_ , she stepped into the open and let the late afternoon sun grazing upon her skin. She had no other reason to be standing there than the urge of leaving all that darkness behind. It was a good enough one.

“Imgiri called me back in,” said Cassian, standing beside her in the open air. He’d called in an abridged update to the Alliance about the mission proceeding, only leaving the specifics of his new allies a bit muddy. “Tomorrow. Didn’t hint if it’s good or bad.”

“I can find out for you,” Jyn said, weighing her words.

“If I still don’t know after the meeting, I’ll take you up on that.” He avoided too much physicality in public with her, either, but where their arms almost touched was that electric charge.

How had they gotten here, after everything that went down? They functioned on Genassa as they had in Savroia: living in and grateful just for each moment. In a nonsense way, _this_ was harder. The possibilities weren’t so narrow. They were utterly unknown. Cassian put a lot of stock in _hope,_ but it was _terrifying,_ poised to cause so much more pain than did resignation. Jyn didn’t dare to hope just yet because she didn’t know what to hope for. Staying with him, loving him… until what might come next? Until he had to go back to the Alliance? Until she had to say goodbye?

Jyn turned away from the sun, toward him, which really… was more of the same, and searched for his warm brown eyes. She couldn’t even stomach the thought of living a life he wouldn’t be part of. “Thank you for coming with me.”

“Thank you for letting me,” he answered quietly.

There were a million things Jyn should’ve been doing at the moment, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. She only wanted to be with him, her subconscious trying to scream that she couldn’t steal those moments together from the ones they might have to live apart. She didn’t listen. If someone asked, she would file that under recovery period… post-concussion syndrome… or whatever the fuck she needed to. (Like Savroia had been his. What was it like to be the kind of people where you _didn’t_ need to almost die, to steal a few moments to just… _live?)_

“What do you think about having a meal together?” she asked. “And then I could find out whether my room is still unoccupied and… have some privacy.”

“Yes, yes, and pfassk, yes.”

⁂

Food went down easier, when he was with Jyn; just like breathing and standing on the ground became easier. After his most substantial meal in days, Cassian followed her through the base, adding to his mental map as they went. The yellow lights hanging above their heads followed them down every turn they made. Jyn didn’t stop to talk to a lot of people, but she responded with a nod (or a smile at occasion) when they called her name. _Liana’s_ name. He mapped her reactions to each caller, too. It was just due diligence. He knew they were, for now, safe.

She led them deeper underground, and finally stopped in front of an unmarked partition acting as a door to what Cassian imagined to be a private room. The whole corridor seemed to be sleeping quarters. No trace of activities, only low chatter of voices in the distance… no screaming children. Jyn unlocked the lever and pushed the partition aside. On the other side of it, she was greeted by a surprised interjection—not exactly on the friendliest end of the spectrum.

Jyn paused, hands on her hips, and shot back: “And who the fuck are _you_?”

For some reason, the individual (barely a teenager) dropped his protestations the moment he recognized his interlocutor. He got up from a platform bed carved into the wall and pushed a hand into his hair, trying to straighten his attire with the other. “Hmm, sorry Sergeant, I was… assigned the room?”

“That’s _my_ room,” Jyn said. “Go see stewardship, they’ll find you another.”

“Uh, yes, Sergeant.”

A beat went by.

“As in: _right now_ ,” Jyn insisted, tapping foot on the ground.

“Oh, yes— sorry.” The poor recruit grabbed some of his personal belongings under the scrutiny of a very stoic Jyn. “I’ll just…”

“You can come to get the rest tomorrow. Come on, rake out, I want to sleep.”

She moved aside, letting him exit the room as fast as he could manage. Then, she closed the door and a mischievous laugh echoed between the two of them.

Cassian caught himself… just… _looking_ at her. Possibly the same way she had at him, each time, on Ord Mantell, he’d made an overprotective scene. “You are sexy as fuck when you pull rank,” he said.

Jyn laughed even more, enticing, “Did I find a new kink of yours?”

“…I don’t really like powerplay.” He’d do it for a partner—he’d done most things for someone else—just not things that trod too near… what he’d had the wrong ways. —But he wasn’t facing any of that right now. He was facing _her._ “But if loving how assured and unabashed and powerful you can be is a kink, then feke, yes.”

“If you want to know,” she explained, scanning her surroundings and probably doing a mental inventory of her… belongings? or their lack of, “you do the same thing to me.” She turned around then, catching his gaze. “But it only works _because_ there’s no powerplay between us.”

“Yes.” He couldn’t find a bigger word. If actions speak louder… He moved to her and caressed his hand under her hair, bowing into a kiss. Jyn welcomed his touch with a soft longing. They savored it for long minutes. When he felt himself independently stirring, he disconnected to murmur, “ _Do_ you really want to sleep? Or was that… shortening a sentence?” _i.e. …sleep **with** …_

“I couldn’t tell that poor soul that I’m evicting him because I want to fuck my partner, could I?”

For a moment, he fantasized about how that would have played out. “I think—” he circled his arms around her, careful on her bruises, “—you could have said—” drawing her as close as they could go, “—anything you liked.” His lips and nose traced a line down the side of her neck, resting in the curve of her shoulder. He shaped the words upon her skin: “Is there a problem with sound control?”

“Is very likely that half the floor will know what we’re doing,” Jyn breathed. “But everyone is really good at just minding their own shit. Close-quarter living rules.”

He knew those. If it didn’t bother her—“Okay.”

He finally turned his back to the door. He faced her fully and put himself flush against her. He ran his hands down her. It was a flowing scape his hands had come to know yet demanded to remap every time: the slope of her back, the curve in of her waist, the curve out again… He moulded his palms to her, cupping, pressing her to him _there_ where their heat pooled and mingled and drew out each other's… He kneaded into her clear of the bruises on her abdomen, relishing the feel of her in his hands and how her yielding to them let his grip roll her against him, and he began to grind into her in return. He suddenly pulled her, locking them at their cores, and used that fulcrum to lift her off her feet. He took her weight on him right where he craved it most, as her legs went reflexively around his waist; listening for the hitch of her breath to know when he jutted into her just right… and, so balanced, still kissing above as they pressed together below, he moved them to the bed.

Sliding her body along his, he lowered her painstakingly down. He didn't try to lay her back. ( _I don’t want to be under you while in a bed—)_ He set her seated on the edge. He slid one hand out from under her and sat beside her, so she could reach him, too. His freed hand ran again, up along its other most relished path: her arches and swells. She brushed her fingers along his jawline and kissed him; and they kept kissing, as he felt his way along to unfasten and part her clothes. His fingers and palm loved the shapes of her so much… slipping inside her clothes for every groan he could coax, flowing over her breasts and belly and below, her sounds and movements resonating, thrumming through him, piercing to acuity where she held him, back.

His hand was down her opened pants… but even as her responses made his breathing intensify and hardness strain, his wrist’s pulse point low against her abdominal muscles registered _her_ flexing, straining, there. He stilled his touch, forcing his mind to function around his own throbbing need. "…You're still not to be too strenuous, right…?"

Jyn groaned, pulling him by his hair. "Consider you're helping my physical therapy," she tried to swing.

He would have smiled if he hadn't pressed it to her lips instead. Mouths softly worked each other, his hand in front of her holding warmth, and his other below sliding between her and the mattress to hold her on the other side. He parted just enough to whisper against her lips, "Do you trust me?"

Her fingers wound into his hair. "You know I do."

He kissed her mouth and jawline and neck, hands keeping the crux of her into stillness. He finally whispered, "Nothing you don't want. I don't want you to give up your power. I do want you to try… to not do anything."

He knew of what she'd been through. She knew what he had, too. But, without meaning to, they seemed to have been learning from each other. For him, from her: he _wasn't_ only… what he’d learned. For her…

She raised an eyebrow, half considering, half… something else… but she said in a small voice: "I can do that."

Her daring to trust, was the most powerful current to run through him yet. He cupped her face and kissed her again. Finally, he began to peel off her clothes. With every part of her bared, he waited or helped her undress him, too; so every step of the way, they matched. _(No powerplay.)_ At last he cradled her head, laying her back on the pillow, lowering himself beside her _(not **over** her) _to keep their faces together. He whispered as before: "You'll tell me if I should stop. At any time."

She kissed him again, agreeing without words. He held the kiss as long as he could, until he finally moved himself down the mattress to slide off her pants. He joined them slipping to the floor. He reached her feet and bared them too; kissed them then kept a gentle massage to warm her toes as he began to kiss his way back up her legs, where they draped over the edge of the bed. He lifted one gently to duck himself beneath. Then he was kneeling between her legs, working along until he could kiss her where they met.

One of his hands moved to seek hers. Jyn instantly grabbed it, intertwining their fingers together as she exhaled a deep breath. He pressed their hands tight, warm, and ran his other along her strong thigh, up onto her poor healing abdomen. He let his palm rest there, low on her stomach, an anchoring warmth, but also to monitor if she started straining. Then he devoted himself to the kiss.

Jyn didn’t manage to stay still very long, but tried hard enough to. And as her breathing grew louder, her head rolled back, throwing an arm over her face to muffle some of her voice. He turned his smile to another caress of her with his lips, and moved again further up the bed, slipping his shoulders under her knees, his biceps to her thighs, and moved with her in the space between impulsion and restraint; bracing, sharing the work, so it wasn’t solely her muscles coming to bear. His hand on her stomach brushed down lower, until four fingers splayed to hold her and one joined his lips and tongue. Keeping the focal point cumulative while also freeing him to taste her deeper.

Jyn stirred up, a choking sound of pleasure in her throat, and her heels dug on his sides. _Oh_ he was so hard past fully, to the point of pain, and he let it be, nowhere near tempted to stop. The beautiful sounds she made washed him like physical strokes.

His other hand had parted with hers when he adjusted her legs and his arms, but returned to it now. Its every change in grip electrified and he matched without having to think. Jyn pulled harder, breaking her self-imposed silence to moan without breathing: “Gods, fuck, Cassian.” He traced an answer with his thumb on her hand. His other kept circling where she pulsed, and parting and pressing deeper in with his tongue. Inversion of before: fingers outside, mouth for within. It wouldn’t go as far but the kindred soft tissues flowed along each other, melted, and merged. Her hips bucked up, following him, and her panting breathing filled the whole room. In that moment, there was everything he wanted to tell her—his whole life and how she’d changed every moment of it. But his mouth was ambrosially preoccupied and words could wait.

Jyn arched from the bed again, her free hand grabbing his hair more reflexively than she probably intended to. “Cassian—”

He answered with a sound, vibrating through the joining of their softest flesh. She stopped breathing entirely then, caging inside the sounds he wanted to learn over and over, letting her body tremble and spasm from her release. And when finally she drew in another breath, she fell back with a long sigh of ease. It rolled through him like when they’d kissed in the sea.

He stilled his hand and withdrew enough to press one more kiss to her there. Then he pushed himself over the mattress edge, to shift forward and come to rest softly at her side. His hands lingered; one low absorbing her warmth, the other entwined with her hand. Jyn turned her head to look at him, her face flushed and gaze heavy. She stretched her neck enough to be able to kiss him, deep and warm.

One of her hands left a caress on his shoulder. She brushed his lips again and said, very intently: “Lay on me.”

It hit him amidships. Her daring to risk… her injuries were the _least_ of it. His blood pounded harder, flooding him, astonished, arousing, _adoring._

More careful than everything leading here, excruciatingly slow, Cassian braced himself up on one arm beside her. He slid his other hand worshipfully across her stomach and breasts, until he reached across to press the mattress on her other side. Breathless, fiercely intent, he moved his body over hers, suspending enough of his weight that he wouldn’t crush her bruises (even, for this one exception, if she asked); but giving enough of it to her that no part of them didn’t touch. No opening for the cold.

“It’s okay, nothing hurts,” Jyn breathed.

“Good,” he exhaled back, brushing her cheek with his lips. “Gonna keep it that way.”

She looked at him with a defiant expression flashing in her ever so beautiful eyes. Her hands reclaimed every centimeter of his back, following every hard line of his body until she could grab his ass and pressed him down to her. He locked the sound he made to her throat, not suppression but sublimation; everything expounded if it could be shared. Her knees bent by his sides, curling her legs over his hips as she angled her body to meet him.

“I guess your legs are healed enough I won’t protest,” he managed, panting, voice catching in a growl—he’d started sliding himself along her before his mind caught up to it. “Or you’d better judge for yourself ’cause I can’t.”

She growled beautifully back: “Everything is healed enough for you to fuck me, so you better do that right now.”

 _Oh yes fuck…_ With his lips to her ear, he breathed, “Yes, Sergeant.” Then he parted her where they both ached and slid blessedly in.

Jyn moaned her satisfaction, eyes shut and lips parted. He kissed the skin behind her ear, trailed down to his favorite place on her neck—grateful she liked it in spite of the past, or maybe loving it so because she now did. He kept himself braced, suspended just so, but also moved his arms closer around her, framing and holding her, as he finally yielded to his own thudding heart and suffusing, pooling blood and began to…

“Cassian,” she gasped, “let’s never… never fucking work on the same assignment _ever_ again.”

Her using words about a future, one with them together, arched him deeper with an uncontrolled groan. He pushed up inside her, slow not in case it hurt, but because he wanted to be aware of all of it, to feel the slide along her walls, millimeter by millimeter; memorize the shape and waves of her around him, to every nerve and cell; exploring her with his acutest need as completely as his palms could survey her spine and eyes would map her face. And everything flew away except her, only aware of himself where they joined. _Fuck the universe. What if we just **can**? _“Ever again,” he gasp-agreed.

“And you can never stop making love to me.”

He meant to agree. What burst from him was a curse. (But another word for curse is ‘oath’…)

She gripped on his wet skin, trying not to break the ‘do not move’ rule, with various degrees of success as he pulled more reactions out of her with each glide and thrust.

“And—” she continued, voice fighting her labored breathing, “we’re already married on Farhava Beta anyway, just so you know.”

He exhaled a laugh he really didn't have air for, barely managing, “Did we go and I didn’t notice?”

“I’ll explain later.”

He kissed her, harder, devotedly, so close he felt it burning brightening cresting inside her right through him… throbbing to burst… and he whispered between moans with the remainder of his breath, “We’ll have to… go… there… _ah_ on our… way… to Halcyon.”

⁂

Jyn sat in the briefing room next to Cassian, her fingers mindlessly tapping on her thigh as they waited for Imgiri. Half the Zerek Platoon was here, too, which could only meant _business_. But despite the impending doomed atmosphere, Sitara couldn't wipe that stupid grin off her face.

Turning to her, at last, Jyn broke her resolve to ignore the solid stare of her fellow team member and growled: “ _What?”_

“Nothing,” the Theelin chimed. Her smile couldn’t possibly stretch wider.

 _“Ish’ka_ , you've been staring at me like I've grown a third arm! Spit it out or I swear—”

“No, nothing, nothing _at all_.”

 _“Damn the fuck,”_ swore Zeke behind them, using Mirialan as he often did. Jyn pivoted on her chair to look at him, the man rolling his eyes so hard he would bruise his brain. “ _She's acting like a training priestess just because it's rumored that you slipped out of medbay and went straight to fucking your boyfriend last night.”_

Jyn almost choked on the boyfriend part, greatly disoriented by the mundanity of the term. She quickly came to the conclusion that she hated it. She needed a stronger word for him. ( _Lover. Partner. Riduur._ )

Cassian had leaned his elbow on one armrest to rest his mouth against his knuckles; either avoiding reaction or hiding one.

“Oh, it's not _rumored_ ,” Sitara objected. “Who do you think I am? I have my sources.”

“None of your business,” Jyn shut down.

“That's right,” Zeke said, “because no one gives a shit except this dumbass.”

“Oh, you fucking munk!” Sitara objected, slamming a foot on his chair. “You had enough shit to give when you were busting my ass this morning with your _bad tastes bla bla stupid rebel bla bla accidental death bla.”_

Cassian glanced at Jyn. Probably unreadable to everyone else, but to her, his eyes had that heartmelting crinkle.

“I strongly advise against getting into a fight with him,” Jyn sneered, “for your own safety. Take it from first-hand experience… But just so we're clear, breathe wrong down his neck and I'll put a blasterhole in your thick head.”

“This is _so_ entertaining,” Sitara whispered.

Before Jyn could object (because _no,_ it _wasn’t_ entertaining to her), Imgiri walked into the room, redirecting everyone’s attention— and the mood drastically shifted. It was the first time Jyn had seen her since she returned, and though they’d had some contacts during her time on Ord Mantell, everything had been kept to tactical communications. She wondered what opinion Imgiri had of the way the mission went down… While Jyn didn’t have a family-type bond with Imgiri, the Mirialan was the closest thing to a mentor (and, at occasion, a friend) she had truly experienced. Unlike most people, Imgiri’s opinion mattered to Jyn. A whole lot, she discovered that day.

Her dark hair braided to the back of her head, Imgiri’s face read as noteworthily focused to Jyn. “We don’t have much time, so I’ll get straight to the point,” she said. “This was supposed to be a review meeting but it’s a mission briefing, now. Departure’s in two hours.”

Well, shit. _That_ set the tone. Jyn resisted the urge to look at Cassian.

“If you can just give us visual confirmation of the people on that list,” Imgiri said, sliding a datapad to him, “so we can move on.”

For all the self-integrating pathway-repair they’d achieved, for themselves with each other, it was still visible: Cassian the amused friend and lover slipped instantly below the waves. Cassian the unreadable, action-ready spy emerged to stand ashore instead. That was who leaned forward to catch and pull the datapad under his eyes.

Mon Calamari, gender markers always difficult for Humans to perceive, nacarat coloring: Cassian confirmed as Faa-char (ambassador). Humanoid, presenting fourth gender, melichrous coloring, no hair: confirmed as Sunnar Jan-lo (naval officer). Human, presenting second gender, sarcoline, long hair: confirmed as Rodma Maddel (Intelligence agent—Jyn remembered: the one Cassian had trained). Human, presenting fourth gender, stramineous, short hair—phototypical Corellian: confirmed as Barid Mesoriaam (Intelligence agent). Human, presenting third gender, brunneous, short hair: confirmed as Taidu Sefla (militia).

“That’s all of them,” said Cassian. “The one with the intel you want is Maddel, but all five carry data that could help larger populations if we recover them, or hurt them if Black Sun extracts it instead. Whether they sell to the Empire or exploit for themselves. Ideally, I want them all. If necessary I can suggest prioritization based on interrogation stamina.” His face and eyes remained unreadable for such a monstrous idea.

“We lost track of the ambassador somewhere in the Oplovis sector,” Imgiri said, “likely already been sold into Imperial hands. My guess would be Ketaris but we’re still trying to secure intel on that. The four others are detained in the same location so let’s take advantage of the situation. Hallik, share the profiles with everyone.”

Jyn reached for the datapad in turn, sending the ID’s to each member’s personal device. “Our targets are on the Kaer Orbital Platform. Long story short: former CIS base, it’s a Black Sun outpost now. Shitty air-defense, big ground firepower so the goal is _not_ to get cornered inside the facility. Rapid breach and clean extraction. We’re sending two squads.”

“Wait up,” Zeke growled, cross-armed. “We’ve got another… operation… ongoing on Kaer, right?” (...suspicious glance towards Cassian.) “What about that? It’s going to fuck it up big time.”

“I’ve pulled it off,” Imgiri said. “This is the new priority.”

“But what about… _our_ agent?”

“He’s been notified and will give you the green light. You’ll extract him with the targets.” With no other objection from Zeke, Imgiri continued to brief the assembled team with details and directions, until finally, she started to go through individual assignment. “And Andor, you’ll be with the first team. Find him appropriate gear when you exit—” but already, Jyn wasn’t paying attention anymore.

“What about me?” she said, at last.

“You’re not going.”

Cassian’s eyes went to her. Jyn’s chest tightened. Breathing in, breathing out. Okay—maybe she couldn’t exactly be thrown in the middle of a fight right now, but there had to be _alternatives._

“I can work with the flight crew.”

“No,” Imgiri said with the exact same tone. “You’re staying on base, Hallik. Alright, everybody get moving. One hour left.”

Cassian stood along with everyone else, but he didn’t ‘get moving’. He turned to Jyn and glanced at Imgiri. The Mirialan let the rest of them walk away and she turned back to them—or more likely to Cassian.

“I didn’t plan to kick your ass into action without a more solid recce but we’ve got an agent inside and things are looking bad for one of them. It’s a now-or-never-type deal. We’re lucky enough to have that backdoor, so let’s hope everyone makes it back.” She spared a glance toward Jyn. “Find yourself a rifle and proper equipment. Liana can help with that.”

“Yeah”, Jyn sneered, jaws tight, “since Liana is fucking grounded on base.”

The comment earned her a sharp glance from Imgiri. “We just spent an indecent amount of bacta on you.”

 _That_ shut her up with an uneasy feeling of guilt. Not enough, though, to overshadow her growing frustration. Something dark and unstable nestled in the pit of her stomach. Jyn fixed the tip of her boots to avoid any eye contact. Imgiri didn’t push further. She parted with them and left the room with the calm confidence that Jyn wouldn’t try to disobey her orders. Wouldn’t she?

The thought of letting Cassian out of her reach made her physically sick. Where so many hadn’t come back… she felt terrified, hurt, and betrayed by the fear of never seeing him again. That wave of helplessness ate her up from inside like the poison she fed her marks, causing her to resent everyone and everything on this damn galaxy. Jyn crossed her arms over her chest, a desperate attempt at self-soothing. She brought her eyes up to meet Cassian again, a burning lump in her throat. She knew she should have said something, but she didn’t know _what_.

His eyes had never left her; but at her glance, he crossed to her. Carefully (caringly), he brought up his hands to touch, then mould upon, hers, where they gripped her arms.

Her teeth almost hurt when she finally managed to unlock her jaws. “Don’t fucking die,” she got out—and she couldn’t even recognize her own voice.

Cassian the spy had vanished again. Her friend, her lover, her partner, bowed forward to press a kiss to her forehead, then rest his own there, so the lashes of their closed eyes brushed each other and their breath mingled.

“People have told me,” he muttered, “my whole life, I’m always looking for the next way to die. I don’t know what comes next for me, for you, on a lot of fronts, but I know no one’s going to say that to me again. Whatever I do, I won’t be looking for death. I’ll be looking for my next way back to you.”

If words could have made it better, he would have hit all the marks. Jyn uncrossed her arms and circled him instead, hiding her agony into a desperate embrace. She found herself out of breath, her heart furiously beating against her ribs. “Come back.” _Don’t leave me alone in this life— don’t leave me lost without you._ “Come back or I’ll die.”

It was the sort of thing she’d seen people say on holos and scoffed at. She understood now. She wasn’t being dramatic for her sake, not entirely. She knew him to undervalue his own life—he’d _just_ said as much, outright—so she needed to frame his survival’s importance in the only way he would value properly: its impact on hers. He dedicated himself to saving everyone else except himself. Great: _so save me, it only works if you’re here._

The grappling hook landed. She could see through his eyes where it clamped and pierced. The tether line snapped taut to pull them across the last tiny distance until they were kissing and holding each other as hard as they could.

“The mission comes… first,” he said slowly.

She squeezed her eyes tighter, along with the bitter, stab-sharp contracting of her heart; _I know, I know, me too, always, but **fuck** —_

But he hadn’t been finished. He breathed against her skin, “—but it’s _tied_ for ‘first’.”

_…oh…_

Jyn was in no position to ask for more. She had already crossed the line, so many times. She had been granted _so much_ , more than she deserved. She couldn’t ask to come first; she hadn’t done it for him, either. They weren’t that type of people… but holding onto him like it might have been the last time, she trembled and wondered if she would live to see a day where they’d put themselves above everything else.


	19. Perihelion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **perihelion** _(astronomy)_ the point at which an orbiting body is closest to the sun.

Their transport took them to the Hunnoverrs sector in a matter of standard-hours. No one spoke much during the flight, except for Sitara, who—apparently—couldn’t let critical tension impaired her friendly demeanor under any circumstances. But from the people surrounding Cassian, she didn’t find much responsiveness. Even Zeke had resorted to silence while they jumped through hyperspace, only gratifying her with an occasional grunt of acknowledgment that kept her going.

Cassian observed. He interacted with nothing to minimize impact, let go of all judgments that could influence perception, and felt himself to be part of the bulwark. The crescendo of ion engines helped sift his atoms into the hull.

From there, he added to his profiles of Sitara and Zeke and built others for the rest. Any of it might be valuable once they hit the platform. The human part of him distantly wondered if Jyn would’ve called those people her friends. She hadn’t come close to demonstrating familiarity with anyone else on their base. (Though Cassian knew how little that might mean.) He wondered if she felt this alone, no matter where she went, even among her people.

The aggressive tone of a man sitting on the opposite row startled the looming silence.

“The fuck you just said?” Zeke growled in response, looking at someone on Cassian’s left.

A beat went by, attention shifting around the cargo hold. It seemed like bad timing to harbor dissension among their team.

“I said—” someone replied, raising voice with a defying undertone, “I don’t understand why we’re risking our skins to save kriffing _Rebels_.”

It might’ve been bait. Cassian-the-wall didn’t take it.

“You’re risking it to save _prisoners of war_ ,” Zeke answered without sympathy. “Not good enough for you, Hodari? What do you think this is, a sabacc club?”

“And what about _our_ prisoners?” Hodari demanded. “Why can’t the Alliance move her ass if those guys are so damn important?”

 _Because the Alliance doesn’t know and you just found out and this won’t wait._ But these weren’t Cassian’s people, so it wasn’t his call what they got told. More valuable, continuing to observe.

“Listen, munkhead, you signed up to be here. No one forced you. So if Citadel tells you to cut your dick and throw it at the Imps, you do as she says! And if you’re not happy, just pack your bags and go fuck yourself on the dark side!” Turning towards Sitara with a disdained face, Zeke muttered: “Gotta really make me miss Hallik, those damn recruits.”

“I told you,” the Theelin grinned, low enough that the rest of the section couldn’t hear. “This guy sucks.”

Cassian emerged enough to return her glance; then to Zeke, in Mirialan: _“Thank you.”_

The man huffed in response, crossing arms over his chest. “ _Not that I care about what happens to you. Just following orders, so don’t get sentimental on me, now._ ”

“Liana would kill us if we come back without him,” Sitara said.

“ _Like if I give a shit._ ”

She only grinned wider, the lime green of her hair to contrast the menacing black of her uniform. It was modified Imperial gear, just like the set of weapons Cassian had been issued, broken down, and reassembled himself. With Jyn’s help, he'd snuck a lightning-fast trip to the base’s firing range. Prep for mission and more stats on the Shift. Overall, para-military; not as structured as the Alliance, far from the entropy of a guerrilla group.

That worked for where they were now going. Cassian redirected a bit of focus to his own presentation. Shoulders squared as he sat forward, forearms on knees, looking at nothing dead on. He didn’t need a pose to focus. He didn’t need to consciously focus at all. Those processes had been automatic for a long time. He put on the affect for those around him. These minor hisses and snarls from the likes of Hodari and Zeke were fine in transit. They wouldn’t afford them on site. A strength and drawback of the tenuous structure: Cassian’s role wasn’t set in the command chain. He’d follow orders unless/until required to take over.

The authority he _had_ was re: the POWs.

Faa-char. Not surprising the ambassador, also the only nonhumanoid and a Mon Calamari in particular, had been shipped offsite. The Alliance would indeed ‘move her ass’ on that front. There was nothing more the Shift could/should do. That they were going after the other four was a miracle.

(—an outcome better than if his original mission **had** succeeded—as if he and Jyn had been the better plan all along—as if ‘leaving it to the Force’ had actually paid off—)

_(Jyn…_

_Focus.)_

Jan-lo. Maddel. Mesoriaam. Sefla. From afar, dehumanization had been the play. For rescue, their individuality was key. Why Cassian had been invited at all, most likely. —And so that the Alliance _was_ risking something, too.

_Jan-lo. Maddel. Mesoriaam. Sefla._

_Jyn._

_We owe them. My life was never mine._

_But now…_

If he’d never fully invested in his own life before, he did now. Because _…it’s hers._ Something _she_ valued. Knowing what she’d already lost and refusing to do it to her again. As the POWs were all important as individuals but also beyond themselves, so was Jyn. The rest of the universe could call it whatever they liked. Cassian served that, too, now.

…This last wasn’t quite a factor, like the rest. His own interests never would be. Still… it was… something. That for the first time he could remember, he _‘liked the idea’_ of living, too. With her.

⁂

The Kaer Orbital Platform, as the name suggested, was a two-kilometer-wide holdout revolving around a gas giant. Their pilot brought them into collision range right before exiting hyperspace, earning a dangerous stripe of bravery and skills, and avoiding prior detection from the Black Sun base. The landing was rough and highly unpleasant but, by the time their position had most likely been confirmed, they had already boarded the perimeter, shifting to infiltration.

Zeke had taken the lead of the team, walking in front of Cassian and half a dozen Shifters. Not two minutes after setting foot on the platform, a violent explosion vibrated through every piece of duraplast and steel, right to Cassian’s bones.

“That’s our signal,” Zeke said. “Our agent is in place, move up.”

They quickly progressed towards the designated rendez-vous point without encountering any resistance. Cassian had memorized a general map; levels and potential blockades. For now, they had to rely on internal help to get through the first layer of security. Surely enough, the heavy doors separating their landing zone from the main structure were sealed shut.

They broke their jog against the adjacent walls for cover. Sitara comm’ed someone. A moment later, strident sirens, distant and distorted, joined the equation just as another explosion rippled through the station. The second of the false attack, to divert all patrols and surveillance outside the platform rather than within—away from the corridors their team needed. But it would only last as long as the phantom assailants would constitute a credible threat. They had to move quickly.

“Kriffing fuck,” someone groaned, “tell that dweezer not to blast us straight into space, yah?”

“Wouldn’t that be unfortunate,” Sitara smiled with cold amusement.

Without warning, the nearby hangar door unlocked, revealing a slender individual with sweaty skin and harsh breathing. “Come on,” he rasped without introduction. “I think I’ve been flagged.” Following in the man’s footsteps, the team entered a narrow and dim-lighted corridor. “I’ve tried to keep them in the cells but I didn’t have enough time to plan this.”

“Tell me about that,” Zeke snarled, pushing forward with the shock of his rifle lodged over his collarbone.

“How many IED are left?” Sitara asked the sapper.

“Not enough.”

“Ah, _great_.”

The group crossed the corridor at a fast pace, down a flight of stairs, then a different section of the base. From the inside of the complex, the alarm rang louder. Their guide swiped a keycard against a doorpad, granting them access to another bloc of the orbital platform. The urgency in his movements found echo in the ongoing agitation hammering inside the base. Even separated by fire-proof doors and floorings, the vibration of footsteps slamming on durasteel traveled along railings and pipelines.

The next separation had them inside a low-height corridor reeking of fumes and foul air. One step ahead of the team, the infiltrated Shifter took a nervous look over his shoulder. They jogged past several plain doors, some opened, some not—until they came to a halt. The unnamed agent wiped some sweat from his forehead and crouched down at level with the keypad, trying to force it open. A once-over told Cassian that his own booted security kit wouldn’t do better.

“Are you kidding me?” Sitara growled, turning around to face the end of the hallway. The others spread out, too. “You couldn’t find the damn pass?”

“D’you know what I had to do to even find a roster of those prisoners?”

As the man continued to fight the door security, minutes stretched into uncomfortable uncertainty. Time was the essence, and theirs was running dry. The sounds of explosions were going awfully quiet.

“We don’t have time for this shit,” Zeke snapped. “Blast the damn door.”

Cassian flashed calculations: time gained by the shortcut, time lost if it revealed their location… He shut them down. It wasn’t his call and, this one, not worth a power struggle.

“On it!” Sitara jumped (almost happily).

 _…shredded to pieces by Shifters’ bombs…_ The Shift seemed to love their explosives.

Sitara swung her rifle back and searched her breast-plate instead. In the dark corridor, the Theelin glued a set of explosives near the lock and connected some wires before taking a step back. “Take some cover,” she advised, putting her back against the wall. The next second, she aimed for it. The sound of the single blastershot was engulfed by the following detonation. The old, rusty door flung open and almost fell from its brackets, clearing the way.

Inside, a shadow sprang from against the far wall to combat readiness.

Zeke’s and Cassian’s eyes met. No rank confusion here: this was what Cassian had been brought for. Cassian stepped into the doorway, keeping himself in the light, and made a hand gesture used by Alliance militia. It could mean a few things, ranging from _Hey, sibling!_ to _Everything sucks!_ Right now, either worked. “Second Lieutenant Taidu Sefla?”

Though they had a common acquaintance in Ruescott Melshi, Cassian hadn’t been sure Sefla would recognize his face. First stroke of luck: Sefla gawked, “Andor?”

“Hello, Tai,” said Cassian. “Wanna get out of here?”

“Fuck yeah,” said Sefla. “But there are others—”

“We know,” said Cassian. “Can you help us get to them?”

“Yes.” As Sefla moved out, the light fell on him, and Cassian’s sense of luck darkened. Sefla had significant injuries all speaking of enhanced interrogation. Their freshness meant interrogations had only _just_ started—less extreme than they might build to, and unlikely anyone would have broken yet. But they had indeed started.

Sefla carried himself well, but how much was adrenaline? That wouldn’t last. Cassian wouldn’t order Sefla’s retreat yet—when someone wants to be helpful, avoid argument by choosing your moment; but he nodded to one of the Shifters to be support if he started to flag. For now, Sefla fell easily into their formation and they moved swiftly down the hall of cells, until he stopped and nodded. There was no conversation this time before Sitara grabbed another set of explosives.

This door, once blasted, still had to be kicked down. In the cell, Barid Mesoriaam lay limply on a cot, semi-responsive even to the explosion. Cassian grabbed the arm of a Shifter he'd profiled as amenable to such requisitioning, and rushed them in. It was bad. Mesoriaam had also been processed and ir injuries were older than Sefla’s. Some were clearly infected. _Fucking Black Sun Synders…!!_ Didn’t they at least want to keep the prisoners alive and healthy for further questioning—?! Think about it later. Cassian knelt beside Mesoriaam and touched ir face to meet Cassian’s gaze. Mesoriaam’s eyes were feverish and unfocused, but they followed Cassian’s hand when he tested.

“Agent Mesoriaam,” said Cassian, “I’m Agent Andor, Alliance Intelligence under General Draven. We’re here to rescue you. Second Lieutenant Sefla will help you get to the transport. Confirm you hear me.”

“Sir,” said Mesoriaam, squinting hard. “Confirmed. Sefla?”

“Hi, Bar,” Sefla said from the doorway. "It's real."

Cassian nodded to the Shifter he’d dragged in. Together they raised Mesoriaam from the cot. As they rejoined the group, Cassian ceded his spot under Mesoriaam’s arm to Sefla. Even if it sapped Sefla’s limited strength, or complicated an injury, Cassian pegged helping Mesoriaam as the quickest way to get Sefla himself to the transport, too.

“Point us to the last two,” said Cassian, “then get going. One of our team will take point.”

“Two?” Sefla sounded horrified but just as quickly got back to business. “I don’t know exactly where, but at least one is in D-block.”

“That’s enough,” said the Shift agent who had the roster.

Cassian nodded. “Fall back.”

“You,” Zeke called, pointing to another Shifter. “Take Botein and get them to extraction point. We—”

The end of his sentence was cut short by the sudden intrusion of a Synder group. A heated exchange of blaster fire invaded the corridor, forcing the team to split and retreat into every single nook available.

The element of surprise might’ve been in their favor—for now. The team of Shifters managed to blast down the three Synders and a deafening silence followed the altercation, soon broken off by Zeke’s commanding tone: “Get them back, _now_. The rest of you with me, move!”

Cassian threw Sefla the same inside hand signal as before. Sefla threw Cassian a salute. Then his arm was back around Mesoriaam and the four of them—Sefla, Mesoriaam, the Shifter under Mesoriaam’s other arm, and Botein—were gone. Zeke’s team, including Cassian and the inside agent, was down to seven.

“D-block?” Zeke demanded.

“Y-es…” Roster came back out, and they picked up their pace.

“This one!” said the agent at last—and not a moment too soon; the distant explosions had long ceased and the sounds of sirens were changing locations. They could be attacked again at any minute.

Sitara did her magic and this door fell cleanly off. This time, before any of them could step into the doorway, the cell’s occupant launched _out_ of it. She sucker-punched Zeke before Cassian tackled her. _“By the light of Lothal’s moons!”_ he hissed.

Intelligence agent Rodma Maddel instantly dropped her countermove. “No Force-fucking _**shit** ,”_ she hissed back. “You—Fulc—Cas— _fuck?!”_

(Good job: her exclamations doubled as confirmations but could be written off as curses.) “You’re leaving,” said Cassian, sitting back on his heels to lever himself up. “We got the others. You have a bead on Jan-lo?”

“No,” said Maddel, also standing, furious at herself for that answer. “I know they’ve started interrogations. They didn’t get to me yet.” She did have injuries, more of a brawling/resisting restraint sort and none severe. (The Shifters might credit her state of health for her response to the blown door. Cassian knew: that was just her. —And was Zeke, even while pressing a hand to his brand-new black eye, staring like he was in love?)

“Get her to the transport,” said Cassian to one of their team.

“I’m fit to help,” said Maddel.

“Get lost before I punch _you_ ,” Zeke growled. (Yep: smitten like a pittin.)

“Your intel’s the crux,” said Cassian. “Get it out.”

He’d trained her. She nodded.

The final cell—Jan-lo’s—was on a viable route back to the shuttle, so Maddel stayed with them to it. Sitara blew the door. And the cell was empty.

Everyone, for a split second, looked at each other. “Shit,” said Sitara. Then the next wave of attackers struck.

With them went any sense of control they might have had over their mission. The ongoing echoes of explosions and gunfights had drawn more forces towards them, washing away any tactical advantages left. Pinned down in place in the middle of an exposed section, the group of unlikely allies had no other choice but to fall back.

The continuous sounds of raging blaster shots replaced Cassian’s pulse in his veins. They needed to break off engagement to move. And they were still missing one prisoner. Before Cassian could draft any sort of decision, the Shifter agent that had been tasked with a new mission order fell dead to the ground, a spray of blood in the air. Maddel grabbed his blaster and joined suppressive fire in the direction of his killers. Fine. Her hiding behind someone wouldn’t save her (and her intel) if they were mowed down or couldn’t retreat.

“Someone prep that door!” Zeke ordered, a few meters away. “And get ready to make a run for it.”

“Aye!” Sitara walked backward, staying close to the wall, until she couldn’t get past a set of pipes and made a leap out in the open—barely making it past the obstacle without a hole in her body.

While Sitara (who clearly had extensive experience as a sapper) tried to grant them an escape window, Hodari took a blast. He hit the wall with a grunt of pain, a fresh trace of blood dripping behind his slouching silhouette. Split-second calculation… this wouldn’t always be his call… but weighing current risk against numeric need and possible future dynamics… Cassian broke cover. He peripherally noted Maddel adjust to cover them as he grabbed Hodari in one arm, dragging him back. For an instant, his new position granted him direct sight on two of their enemies, who were slower to adjust. Cassian shot one through the head. The other fell back which gave Cassian and Hodari the space to get around a corner.

Cassian released the man where he could lean against the wall—and Hodari did so, staring at Cassian. (The Alliance taking a risk for the Shift, back, after all.)

“Ready to blow it!” a voice screamed behind them. “Get your asses here!”

Cassian grabbed Hodari back up. Maddel joined to help.

A too-close explosion impacted their bodies, heads spinning from the aggression. This time, the force of the detonation hadn’t been designed to make a breach but rather unbalance the structural integrity of the section. The whole corridor started to crumble, ceiling collapsing with a loud rumble of durasteel to bury the other end of it. A suffocating dust swirled in the air.

“Time to un-ass,” Zeke insisted, not wasting time in catching his breath.

For a second time, Cassian swapped himself out for another team member to hold up the injured one. “Give me ten minutes before you fly.”

“What are you gonna do?” Sitara asked. “We don’t know where the last one is and the whole base is coming after us.”

“And you said _this_ one—” another Shifter pointed at Maddel, “—is the one with the intel we all want. You gonna risk that for a less vital one?”

“No,” said Cassian. “She’ll be on the transport with the rest of you. Like I said: ten minutes. Jan-lo’s not in aer cell. They’d started interrogations. Maybe we interrupted aer’s. If I don’t find aer in an interrogation room, I’ll retreat. If you have to take off without me, I’ll find my own way.”

_—Come back  
_ _—My life isn’t mine to give  
_ _—I’d be abandoning  
_ _—We’re already married  
_ _—I’ll be looking for the next way  
_ _—Don’t leave me alone_  
_—I’ll die  
_ _—to get back to you_

“That’s a _shitty_ plan,” Sitara objected with visible concerns.

Cassian nodded agreement even as he said, “See you in ten.” He took off down the unbarricaded corridor.

Voices died down behind him, but he caught footsteps following closely. “Go with the others,” Cassian said without looking.

Whoever’s voice he might have anticipated, it was _not_ _**this**_ one. “I don’t take orders from you,” Zeke deadpanned, catching up to flank Cassian’s left. _Don’t waste time arguing… when you know it won’t work._ Cassian said nothing further. “You got a plan for _finding_ the interrogation rooms?” Zeke asked.

“Educated guessing.”

“Fuck you,” the man groaned. “Cover me.” He grabbed a commlink from his front pocket and said: “Botein, do you copy?” A few seconds of static, before a voice answered by an affirmative. “The rest of the team is on the way. Ask that Sefla guy where he’d been interrogated.”

Pfassk, of course. Cassian mentally smacked himself and saluted Zeke.

“One floor up, north-east toward a lock-down area,” Zeke relayed after a short pause. “Aren’t you glad that I’m here and took my brain with me, now?”

“Yes,” said Cassian. “Lead on.”

Down to a team of two, progressing through the base proved less difficult—even still critically dangerous. With a rough localization of their objective, the two men ran through the place, taking turns in covering each other and trying to stay actively aware of their general progression. It wasn’t long before they encountered more Synder resistance, but the primary attention seemed to have been drawn off by the bigger cell of the Shift’s team and the duo were able to evade. They barged in and pushed through the upper floor with silent efficiency, surprised at how smoothly they managed to operate together.

“That might be it,” Zeke said, pointing his chin towards an enclosed space separated from the rest of the perimeter by pulsing shields. Two rows of doors projected a faint shadow on the floor through square windows. “I’ll get those guys, you get a look inside.”

Cassian gave a nod and they split paths. Blaster at the ready, Cassian looked through each window while putting the least of his face in the frame.

The second was occupied. A humanoid was strapped to a table, but the table stood between them and the window, obscuring ID. Cassian snapped his fingers to catch Zeke’s attention to the room. They didn’t have Sitara and her explosives this time—Cassian had almost thought to ask for one, but, with only two of them, they couldn’t afford another showdown. His escapology kit was coming out from the lining of his boot, after all. He set his blaster atop the control panel (easier to grab again than from holster or belt) and got to work.

A few moments later, Zeke was back next to him, breathing heavily and holding a blood-stained vibroblade in his left hand—which had evidently not been for show. “Gotta work faster,” Zeke said under his breath, turning his back to Cassian to assume a defensive role.

Cassian couldn’t do better than he already was—but with flattering timing, the door unlocked. Cassian shoved the kit and his blaster into his pockets and clapped a hand to Zeke’s shoulder as he passed in.

The humanoid strapped to the table, visibly drugged and still bleeding (none too deeply, thank the Force), was indeed Sunnar Jan-lo. Cassian droid-fast scanned the _instrument_ tray abandoned beside the slab. He grabbed a torture tool sturdy enough to use as a lever. Rather than another method of waking aer, Cassian dug his ‘lever’ in clear of aer flesh to start breaking the restraints.

Jan-lo still jolted and opened aer eyes with alarm—but sure enough, realizing ae was being freed in an undesigned way gave quicker and more convincing exposition than speech could have.

“Who are you?” Jan-lo managed.

“Andor from the Alliance. ‘TIE-Die’ wants you home.”

Jan-lo let out a sob of relief—that Cassian wished he’d never heard (nor uttered) before.

“Think my arm’s broken, Andor,” said Jan-lo faintly. “And hella woozy. Don’t know how I can help.”

“Don’t try,” said Cassian. “Don’t move.” He threw his whole body into prying apart the last of the restraints; then threw the device aside with the rejection it richly deserved. “Can you stand?”

Jan-lo gave it an impressive try. Cassian still had to catch aer. With his support, ae was able to walk steadily enough—slowly. Cassian wondered if he could carry aer outright, and if that would improve their pace enough to offset hampering his blaster aim. He decided against it for now. They might yet find out. A third (hopefully last) time (today), Cassian put one arm around his injured ally and re-drew his blaster with the other. “Maddel, Sefla, and Mesoriaam are waiting for us on a transport. Let’s go.”

Jan-lo may have mumbled Faa-Char’s name, but not entirely lucidly, and didn’t actually ask. Cassian navigated their way out of the Sith-cursed room. He called quietly to Zeke, “How we doing?”

A grunt answered him, and the man pushed a hand on Cassian’s back to hurry him. “ _Faster,_ ” was all he said before firing at a target Cassian had no time to mark. Cassian tightened his hold on Jan-lo, hoisting so much of aer weight onto himself, he was practically carrying aer after all. His other arm locked straight in front of him, now, as he looked at _everything_ down his blaster sight.

A stream of Mirialan curses followed by a crashing noise behind him.

Angry shouting pierced the suffocating atmosphere. Zeke threw another salvo of suppressing fire, which somehow got more distant as Cassian went on. A glance back showed Zeke kneeling down behind a supply crate, taking a stand to buy them some time. _No, don’t,_ thought the part of Cassian that could never yield to the strategic brain, no matter how much he fortified one and broke down the other. But the rest of him knew; again, Zeke wouldn’t be saved by _all_ of them going down, and Cassian was responsible for Jan-lo. He kept going.

Nonetheless, Zeke’s impact on his feelings might have sped Cassian’s reflexes when three new Synders suddenly turned a corner in front of him. Clearly, they’d been deployed to vise in their enemy from both sides, but only locked on the known target of Zeke’s gunfire. They were surprised by Cassian’s proximity. They didn’t get off a shot before he did. Three blasts in one and a half seconds: one smoking hole in a chest, one in a throat, one replacing an eye.

 _I wish I knew better who that was, to give you now…_ He wondered if he’d been deceiving Jyn by ever being close to her, making love to her, accepting love _from_ her, without expressly telling her he had abilities like this one—that he’d not just accepted but _mastered. My killing hasn’t been limited to combat or self-defense. Has yours?_

Jan-lo made an indistinct sound that might have been requesting a weapon, to help, but aer good arm was around Cassian’s shoulders, the other indeed broken and unable to aim; not even the drugs could hallucinate that away.

“Suck on that, dickheads!” came Zeke’s bellow from behind.

Suck on _what?_ The answer was: a fragmentation grenade, shaking the floor with a dangerous turmoil (they were _still_ in space).

Zeke was moving again, sweat on his face, a hand pressed to his side, and blood soaking through the layers of his tactical gear. Cassian fought himself not to spin full around and cover him. _Almost there. Come on._ The moment he hit the boarding ramp, and pushed Jan-lo into the Shifters’ hands behind the transports’ walls, he’d be able to turn to shoot the Synders off Zeke’s tail—get him the rest of the way home.

Thank the Force, at least Zeke caught up to them. “Come on, Rebel,” the man smirked, limping next to him, “that’s all you’ve got?”

“Can you take Jan-lo?” said Cassian. Though his quick scan of Zeke’s injuries weren’t good. “My turn to hold them off.”

Jan-lo, though still automatically moving aer feet, had slipped too far from awareness to respond at all.

“Fuck off,” Zeke said, “I’m not gonna have you die a martyr on my watch.”

“Fine. But you’re getting out of here to debate against my droid.” Cassian didn’t usually refer to Kay that way, but it was the quickest information dump to try to bolster Zeke’s survival instinct with an absurdity. “He never likes anyone but he’d like you.”

The man snorted. “ _Great_.”

Their extraction point got closer with each step, and yet remained excruciatingly far away. Were the ten minutes already up? Would they show up to an empty landing pad? Or _worse,_ one full of Synders having captured the others?

They turned the second-to-last corner and found out.

It wasn’t the worst possibility. The Synders hadn’t nailed down which was their actual ship. But they had of course figured that there _was_ one and had the whole docking bay surrounded. The bay _itself_ was total chaos, which was heartening re: eventual escape. The issue was getting _onto_ it. The cordon of fighters between it and them snapped instantly on Zeke, Cassian, and Jan-lo and started firing.

The only thing that saved them was that Black Sun still obviously wanted Jan-lo and aimed to miss aer. But the line of reasoning (and bolt trajectory, as they spun for cover) was also pretty clear: if they could avoid Jan-lo, they were fine killing Zeke and Cassian.

All three sank down around a sheltering corner. Dead end. Just like their situation. They could only shoot so many before the rest finished closing in and took them.

Cassian set Jan-lo against the wall. He hadn’t picked a next move. His mind raced furiously, weighing… everything. Theoretically, only strategy. But that same damn part that kept him from ever, no matter what X-squad said of him, actually becoming a droid…

There was something to be said for lack of ambiguity when faced with such decisions. Just not fucking much. Not in the moment nor (especially) afterward. When Cassian weighed his own life against Zeke’s and Jan-lo’s… _(I’m sorry, Kay… at least you and I accepted the eventuality from the start. But J—)_

But when Jan-lo was the deciding factor. It wasn’t weighing lives. Just logistics. Cassian was currently able to carry Jan-lo. Zeke wasn’t. That meant, between the two of them…

_(My star, my love, no one should ever do it to you again, Force, gods I don’t want to…)_

It wasn’t a choice. Still, Cassian was not going to be the one to make it. He’d abandoned people and failed to save them when the situation had been irretrievable. But, whether it was a distinction with any difference to anyone at all, he had never _ordered_ anyone to fall in his place.

“Fuck that shit,” Zeke said, spitting blood on the floor. Having read Cassian’s face, or just the situation, the same inevitable way. “Looks like I’m not gonna meet your droid, Andor.”

“I’m not so glad you brought your brain here, now. Though we would have failed three times without you.”

“Yeah, couldn’t let you get killed. Hallik is expecting you back.” A frown of pain crossed his face as he bent to evaluate the situation. “What a shit day. I’m going to draw them off… you get that fellow on board and don’t let Sitara weep for my fucking ass.”

Cassian did imagine Sitara weeping. He imagined Jyn’s lightyear-long stare. He imagined Zeke and Kay arguing to out-blunt one another, while Maddel tossed Zeke encouragement. Why was _that_ the wave-form that had to collapse.

“We’ll make this help the Shift, not just the Rebellion,” Cassian said. “I promise.”

“At least make it a good story,” Zeke said. He stood taller then, clapped a hand over Cassian’s shoulder, and muttered for himself: “ _Where will it be the last of our youth—_ ”

 _“No more running,”_ Cassian finished for Zeke’s comrade who couldn’t say it to him herself. _“We’re already home.”_

Zeke’s surprised look turned into a respectful glance. “You’re not that bad for a Rebel, after all.” And he let go of Cassian’s shoulder.

⁂

Sitara and Maddel were there to catch Jan-lo and Cassian as they fell to the transport’s deck. Everyone else (rightly) scrambled to keep shooting off possible adversaries until they could seal the hatch, keep tending the secured wounded (Mesoriaam was not looking good), and otherwise enact lift-off through the utter confusion. Other ships panicking and trying to flee the unknown attack had mercifully disintegrated Black Sun’s intended security lock-down. Even the most organized crime syndicate was still prone to splintering factions all looking out for themselves. _The lack of an ethos,_ thought Cassian distantly, survival instincts reaching for the hoped-for comparison.

He couldn’t do much to help any of that, so he just sat back. Maddel and—to what would be, if Cassian could feel anything just now, his surprise— _Hodari,_ started slapping half-used-up bacta patches to Cassian’s fresh blasterburns. They were mostly on his legs, where they'd tried to hobble him without hitting Jan-lo. All minor, some glancing. Shutting off emotion, such as alarm at pain, had let him continue through it. (Context/expectation, sometimes the deciding factor in how debilitating pain will be.) Carrying Jan-lo had given him protection from worse. Zeke had done the rest.

Nobody asked until they were miraculously clear and safely in hyperspace. Then Sitara said only, softly, “Can you confirm it?”

Eyes closed, Cassian unwillingly shook his head. “Not with a visual. No.”

Jan-lo had been stop-gap patched by another Shifter. Head now in Sefla’s lap, ae unexpectedly murmured, “I can. I saw over Andor’s shoulder while he carried me. I saw your man fall. He was dead.”

_Make it a good story._

He would. When he could think and feel again. They all knew, anyway.

“He chose to, to save us,” Cassian muttered. “I’m so sorry.”

Sitara fell completely silent, tears in her eyes, and sat back motionless.

Maddel clasped Cassian’s uninjured bicep and touched her forehead to his shoulder.

Cassian thought of Imgiri, who he didn’t know enough… but she’d known Khryw, who Cassian had known well. Khryw had said to him when he was a child and hurt and scared and in grief… Cassian let the Mirialan prayer recite itself through him without having to present within his pained and guilty adult self. _“The crystal is the heart of the blade. The heart is the crystal of the warrior. The warrior is the crystal of the Force.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Synder** = Black Sun Syndicate member
> 
>  **By the light of lothal’s moons** = [Fulcrum agent recognition code](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Fulcrum). Cassian’s main function as Fulcrum was recruiter, and Maddel is identified as recruited by Cassian in [Rogue One: The Ultimate Visual Guide](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Star_Wars:_Rogue_One:_The_Ultimate_Visual_Guide)
> 
>  **TIE-Die** = [Jan-lo’s trainer, Wex Dafid](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Wex_Dafid)
> 
>  **Mirialan “prayer”** adapted from [a quote by Luminara Unduli](https://starwars.fandom.com/wiki/Luminara_Unduli/Legends#Assault_on_Ilum)
> 
> Moira dares to say: Zeke had a better character arc in one chapter than anyone in the entirety of TROS and that’s the tea for tonight. RIP brother.  
> (Merry agrees with the possible exception of D-O. /endachingsarcasm )


	20. Aurora

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Aurora** _(astronomy)_ A glow in a planet's ionosphere caused by the interaction between the planet's magnetic field and charged particles from the Sun.

**20\. Aurora**

In the darkness of her cave, waiting for Papa to come back…

In the darkness of a bunker on Tamsye Prime, waiting for Saw to come back…

In every night she had spent since Verisin, waiting for Nova to find her back… in her dreams… in her death… stilled in time, unable to escape, unable to forget, or to forgive herself…

Jyn had spent her entire life waiting for someone to come back and save her from the darkness. Now, she was consigned to waiting _again;_ waiting for _him_. Thinking that she wouldn’t be able to live anymore if he didn’t come back. Cassian had to come back, be the one to make it out of this abyss of shadows. Cassian had to come back so she could tell him… She wanted to tell him. She hadn’t had time to. She hadn’t known how… to open that part of herself to him, more vulnerable than love, deeper than trust. But she would.

When she would see him again.

_You saved my life. I’ll give it to you._

The last remnants of sunlight died on her skin, watching Genassa’s sunset disappeared behind the gigantic mountain walls surrounding the base. Jyn sat atop a crate of stolen Imperial fret in waiting of inventory. From her position, she eyed with a wondering mind a group of young refugees playing on a dusty landing pad, near Sector 4. It amazed her how children could still be children… in the midst of this war… losing their home and family… and have the heart to play, still.

She wondered if she had granted some more time for little Nor and Thaeo to play.

Until the next time, until the next mission, until the last chance… then what? Would she have something left after all this? Would she ever have an _after_?

— _and most of the time, I think I won’t live long enough to have any sort of family… but if I did…_

If she did…

— _If I have to serve… I can’t… risk something I would choose over service._

If she did, she wanted it to be with him.

— _Whatever I do, I’m gonna be looking for the next way to be with you._

“Pew! Pew!”

Jyn blinked and looked in the direction of the vocalization. A little hand was sticking up over another crate, forefinger pointed at her. A moment later, a little tousled Human head popped up to join it.

“Got you,” the child said with satisfaction. “You’re dead.”

An uneasy shiver ran down her spine, soon replaced by a familiar numbness. Jyn didn’t move, only smirked, “Almost was. Not very pleasant, I don’t recommend.”

The kid was obviously unused to _not_ being humored. More of him emerged from behind the crate, head on a tilt. “Were you shot?”

“Not this time,” Jyn said, not making any attempt to disguise the seriousness in her voice. “But I don’t recommend that, either. Have you ever shot at someone with a real blaster?”

“No,” said the kid. “But that’s the way. To go. You know. With blaster shots, there’s no blood, ’cause it’s _cauterized.”_ He sounded very proud to know the word. “Quick and clean.”

Something inside her turned. Jyn wondered how old he was—maybe seven, eight. She pointed at the space next to her, waiting for the kid to approach. “What’s your name?”

He came over confidently, planting his palms on top of the crate so he could hop up beside her. “Tarron Krel. TK.”

“Well, TK, I’ve shot people before. A lot of people… and it’s not quick and clean. There can be blood—when the damage goes too deep and quick, past what gets cauterized. Or those layers just burst like a ripe meiloorun. There can be a _lot_ of blood, and, either way, a lot of pain… people don’t always die instantly, and you never forget the screaming.”

The kid looked shocked, trying to reconcile what she’d just said.

“So if you ever pick up a blaster,” Jyn said softly, “you better have a good reason to shoot because it’s not a game.”

“It _would_ be for a good reason,” TK said. “We’d be in the right. Fighting to make the Galaxy better. That makes it worth it.”

Jyn looked away, lost in echoes. “Yes,” she breathed, “that’s why good people fight and you might have to do it someday… but once it’s done, you can never wash the violence away.”

The kid looked… dismissive. “I’d only kill bad people.”

“Oh yeah?” Jyn leaned her palms on her knees to give him a sidelong look. “How do you tell the bad people from the good ones?”

“The bad ones are the ones fighting against us,” said TK, brow furrowing.

“What if they have their own reasons? That make them think _they’re_ good and we’re bad? Or if the situation’s all tangled up, so we’re all a _mix_ of bad and good?”

TK’s mouth dropped open… and he didn’t respond.

Jyn let her eyes slip away again, looking at the shadows steadily eating away the landing pads around them. “You know, nobody thinks they’re killing good people… but in the end, even if it’s to defend yourself, you’re still responsible for somebody’s death. Our actions are never undone… and you have to be able to live with it for _forever_.”

It wasn’t possible for a brain that young to grasp _‘forever’._ Really, fully developed ones couldn’t do it, either. But even the microcosmic amount that could seem eternal to one mortal perspective—even that was beyond a child. TK scowled. “Fighting is better than just sitting around doing nothing! But by the time anybody lets me, the war’s gonna be _over.”_

Jyn snorted. “May the fucking Force hear you.”

That, somehow, gave TK more pause than anything else. He looked into Jyn’s face like he’d just gotten his first look of hyperspace. It wasn’t just an adult not trying to hide or shield him from an expletive. The depth behind her sarcasm was visceral, for the words that didn’t yet have meaning to him but were fully realized for her. _You’re still responsible. A lot of pain. You never forget._

The slightest hint, just there, of _understanding_ on his face gave Jyn a sudden chill. He hadn’t resembled it a moment ago. Now… the shape of his face, messy dark hair, big brown eyes… she couldn’t blink away the familiar feeling; this could be the face of the kid who’d never gotten to be one.

The rapid descent of a spaceship toward the enclosed landing pad stirred Jyn from her thoughts.

She jumped on her feet and brought up two fingers to her temple to salute TK before running away (more like… moderately jogging away… like a hundred years old, out of breath, barghest. Really, Jyn didn’t recommend _almost dying_ ).

How many millions of years could it take for a banthafucking boarding ramp to deploy…? It felt like it took longer than the entire mission and the rest of her life. Even so, it hadn’t fully extended before boots were pounding down it, jumping the gap between its end and the tarmac. The worst wounded, each propped or carried by others, were rushed first, with everybody else in decreasing levels of medical urgency. And there _(Alive. You’re alive. You came back.)_ was Cassian, supporting or being supported by a pale-haired female-presenting Human and, on his other side, a bloodied Hodari. After she’d heard him fuming about the Alliance like he always did, the man now held onto Cassian like they were born comrades-at-arms.

Behind them, last of all, a body on a stretcher.

Jyn ran numbers in her head, a rush of anxiety heating up her face. She scanned faces with a heavy weight on her chest… until she caught sight of Sitara and it all hit her at once.

Hodari had been ushered away, as the most obviously wounded of the three. The woman and Cassian were both beat-up. It was hard to tell who was bracing whom… until Cassian saw Jyn and started toward her and immediately almost fell. The woman caught him. She turned them both toward the medics. Cassian growled something to her which made her bite her lip, frustrated or resigned. But she helped him in Jyn’s direction until he broke away, to hold on her instead.

Jyn’s hands lit on his arms. She’d been having a hard time breathing until she could confirm his reality by touch. Now that it came to it, she was more concerned with helping him stay upright. —And she still looked at Sitara, not letting go of Cassian. They didn’t move or speak until she finally tore her eyes from her friend and looked at him.

The Lady Fate, the Starlag brawl, the lexonite, the assassination… It wasn’t just that every person registered war differently. Every fight, every blow, every kill, registered differently within each person, too. _Our actions are never undone… and you have to be able to live with it for forever._ Cassian now… only his hands were warm _(blood flowing, pulse fluttering, alive—the right…)_ as they returned her grasp. He had that look she’d seen before, on too many people. _I have to tell you._

“Zeke died saving my life,” said Cassian. “His call… the right move… the _only_ move. I think it helped him. To make it, also, for you.”

Jyn closed her eyes for a few seconds, her breathing frozen. Later… she would grieve later.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” she said, looking at him again. She placed a hand on his face and scanned his eyes for an answer—beyond the external injury: _are you okay?_

He didn’t tilt his head into the touch like he always did. His expression didn’t change; his eyes met hers without matching their closeness. He did lift one hand to press gently over the back of hers.

“Jan-lo needs operating,” he said, “I need to stay near in case…” (In case they didn’t make it and needed someone to receive their information, to pass on? _—And you obviously need someone to look at that leg while you’re at it. Don’t just think you can brush it off and hurt in silence. I’ll never let you._ ) “I’m sorry… Can I… be with you, later?”

Jyn slightly nodded. “I’m going to be with Sitara… Come find me when you need me, alright?”

Expression and eyes still far away, it wasn’t forced, how he nonetheless moved closer to touch his lips to her forehead. _I always need you._ “I’ll find you.”

⁂

It had taken Jyn a minute to figure out where Sitara had gone. But, eventually, she followed her to the dormitories and—with an aching heart—stepped into Zeke’s room.

“You don’t have to do that now,” Jyn called softly.

Turning her back to her, Sitara shook her head and kept gathering the man’s belongings into a metal box. “We need the space. I don’t want stewardship to touch his stuff, they’ll mess things up.”

“I know…” Jyn said and took another step towards Sitara. “But you don’t have to do it _right now._ No one will touch this room, I promise.” Hell, she’d beat up anyone who’d tried to. But her assurance didn’t do anything to stop Sitara, so Jyn stopped arguing with her. No point in it. Everyone had a different way of grieving, and the Theelin was entitled to her own.

Jyn stepped aside to not be an inconvenience while Sitara moved around, piling clothes and holopad and gear, so silent that Jyn realized how alien it felt when Sitara wasn’t being the happy one. She didn’t leave the room. Sitara didn’t ask her to. Maybe her contemplative presence was enough for now; better than being alone, not ready to accept anything else.

“I don’t know…” Sitara whispered after a while, holding silver beads that Jyn remembered seeing in Zeke’s hair on occasions, “what I’m going to do now. He’s… was… my best friend. I’ve got no one else.”

Jyn felt the tears in her eyes but refused to let them flow. It would have been such an insult to tell her _you’ve got us_ when Jyn had never believed it for herself. Words couldn’t make this easier—nothing could. Sitara had lost the most important person in her life and nothing would ever be the same. Nothing would be _okay._ It would just be.

Gods, she couldn't even begin to imagine if she had lost Cassian, and she hadn’t known him for nearly as long as Sitara and Zeke had been friends. Although, time had no value against feelings… except when it was pulled short.

“I understand,” Jyn said. She placed her hand on Sitara’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry. I’ll miss him.”

A sobbing sound rasped in Sitara’s throat. “Yeah, me too.” And with that, she turned to Jyn and surprisingly sunk against her.

Despite knowing each other for well over a standard year, it might have been the first time that the two of them hugged.

Jyn wished with all of her heart it wouldn’t have been to mourn Zeke’s death.

⁂

They finally got Cassian to take a food break by threatening to reexamine _his_ injuries. He’d been patched up properly and stuck on a pair of crutches that weren’t strictly necessary but should avoid prolonging the limp. Just… An element of any recuperation was being _willing_ to heal. He wasn’t there yet.

Still, Jan-lo was stabilized, Sefla and Hodari were comfortable, everyone else was settled in, had been cleared, or was past concern. So, fine. Cassian would fend off his own hospitalization by forcing down some nutrients and drinking some pfassking water.

Cassian felt traitorous, not going to find Jyn, to ask her to join him. He wanted to see her, badly. But he also wanted, more badly still, to _be_ with her. Do things with her that he couldn’t allow himself yet. With anyone else. Or at all _._ (Honesty. Emotion—or _lack_ of it. Not playing Human.) It was selfish of him. She could handle and would support whatever he needed to do, on his own or with others; there was no need to exclude her from the public parts. It was just him, wanting all or none. Keep himself pretending to be who he was supposed to be, outside her gravity, and save being alone with her for when he could succumb. Keep it separate, how long he had to keep standing up, until he could… even if just on the inside… not know, in advance, how he’d be.

Whatever. He should try to later, to be fair on everyone involved, but he wasn’t going to analyze himself right now, either. Maybe he’d let Kay do a little of it, when he finally reported in. After getting the clearance and the equipment from Imgiri. After debriefing. After…

His eyes lifted at the movement of someone sliding into the seat opposite him.

“For Force’s sake,” said Maddel, “you’re planetside on an agriworld and you _still_ went for the ration bars?”

“Less to choke down,” said Cassian, allowing stronger language for fewer syllables. “What are you doing out of Medical?”

Maddel rolled her eyes. “I told you. Fit to serve. They cleared me hours ago. I’m demonstrably _and_ officially in better shape than _you_ are.” She grabbed his water and shoved it closer to him. “If you’re gonna insist on the worst option, at least _ingest_ it.”

“Get your own before lecturing me,” he said without rancor.

“Fine.” Maddel got up and left for the serving station.

Cassian hadn’t made significant progress by the time she returned. With two trays. One of which she clapped down under his nose. “You’re going to eat enough of that that I can see a difference, or I’m marching you back to Medical myself.”

“Aren’t _you_ under _my_ charge?” …causing another pang re: others who had been. He strangled off the feeling with a forced bite of food.

Maddel was watching him far too astutely. “Would you rather I report you to this ‘Hallik’ people keep talking about?”

Cassian took a gulp of water. “Nice try.”

She gave a wry smile and took her own bite. For a while, they ate in companionable silence.

“I guess I’ll hear everything at the debrief,” said Maddel at last. “Assuming I’m invited. For a bit, there, they suggested _I_ might be the ranking Alliance rep in good enough shape to attend.”

“Stop overstating my injuries.”

“Not them.” She set down her utensil to look at him steadily. “C’mon, Prof. Why this one? It was straightforward. And you got most of us out.”

Cassian shook his head. “Not there yet, Ro.”

“Okay.” Maddel reached across the table to smack the side of his head.

“Ow?” said Cassian.

“You know you can talk to me,” said Maddel. “And it doesn’t have to be me. Just _someone._ For once in your life. Maybe Hallik?”

It was easy to say “I promise” when that had already been the plan. …Although, maybe Maddel had just helped ensure…

“I’ll introduce you,” said Cassian after another silence. A pretty meaningless thing to say on a base this size, with debrief looming. Sometimes—even with people like them—you didn’t actually speak to exchange information. It was a connecting touch, if only soundwaves. “To Hallik. You might get along.”

Maddel gave him a mid-bite grin. “Pfffsht. I get along with everyone.” She kicked him under the table right in the blaster burn.

“Ow,” he repeated.

“More wonderful,” she said: _“you_ get along.”

⁂

The debriefing was held at a round table, at which sat Imgiri, with Jyn and Sitara standing a step behind her, and a Zabrak (whose name was unknown to Cassian) for the Shift. Across the way: Cassian and Maddel for the Alliance. Jan-lo and Sefla were still in Medical. Mesoriaam had died in hyperspace. Irs was the only body they’d brought back. Those who’d died on the platform had stayed there.

With the memory enhancing techniques Khryw had started and Rebel Intelligence had honed, Cassian gave them every step, every call, everything Zeke had said and done, even down to the song. He paused only to leave room for Sitara’s correlations, and only omitted his own finishing the lyrics. That was just for the man himself; and maybe, eventually, for Jyn.

Then, finally, the reason Cassian had requested and been approved to report back to the Alliance _before_ this meeting. With Draven’s confirmation, Cassian authorized Maddel to unlock. She looked Imgiri in the face as Maddel told them everything she’d collected on the Imperial acquisitions surge. Hardware piracy. Specialized requisitions from SoroSuub and Arakyd. Mineral extraction—with, least explicable: kyber crystals. Last she could report, on Jedha, despite massive civilian protest, they were poised to raze the Temple of the Whills to the ground. Maddel provided the list of official and unofficial reasons the Empire kept using for every act, increasingly ludicrous.

Maddel fell silent and the unspoken conclusion hung over all of them. The Empire was prepping _something,_ that they expected to make a turning point, not just in their war with the Alliance, but with everyone.

Finally, Cassian reclaimed focus. “We share this intel in restitution for the services you’ve already rendered. If you’d consider further cooperation, I’m instructed to arrange a direct meeting between you,” Imgiri, “and/or your chosen representatives with my superiors. To be conducted at a location of your choosing.” To anyone else around the table who wasn’t Jyn, there was no break at all in Cassian’s delivery. To her, there was a flicker. “You’d be escorted by myself, Agent Maddel, Second Lieutenant Sefla, and Commander Jan-lo. It will double as our rendezvous to return to home base and deliver Mesoriaam’s body.”

(Decoding the flicker: _we always knew I’d be leaving, but… damn…)_

“I appreciate you honoring your part of the deal,” Imgiri said in a distant, tired voice. “It becomes clear by the minute that whatever the Empire is doing, we’re missing the bigger picture…” Then she switched to Mirialan to specifically address Cassian. “ _I don’t trust the Alliance and I don’t expect them to trust us, but I trust you. We’ll set up a meeting when your people are fit to leave._ ”

Behind her shoulder, Jyn had barely flinched.

In the same language, Cassian thanked Imgiri as he had before. The slightest pause. _Don’t make promises you can’t keep._ But this one… “I promised Zeke this will be for the good of the Shift as well as the Alliance. We’ll make sure of it.”

Hearing his name, Sitara lowered her face to mask a look of distress. She had shown up to the debriefing with Jyn, willing to see this unfold despite how personally affected she was by Zeke’s death. She didn’t seem far from a collapsing moment.

“ _I see it in your eyes,_ ” Imgiri said with just a spark of burning emotion. Then, she fell back into her stoic persona, calm and calculated. “I’ll get my people to secure a location. In the meantime, I entrust you not to relay the position of this base, for the sake of all the people we’re sheltering.”

Cassian gave an officializing nod. “Sefla and Jan-lo won’t even be informed.” Being taken straight from the shuttle to medbay, it made sense they didn’t know. That left Maddel and Cassian, the literal professionals at keeping secrets.

Imgiri seemed to be satisfied with his answer. “I need to oversee some matters about the double-agent we lost,” she said. “He had been planted there to work on a supply operation and had no leads on your prisoners. But if something significant comes up, I’ll let you know.”

She met both their eyes, as to confirm this wasn’t a point of contention, and stood. For a moment there, seeing her holding on the edge of the table, Imgiri appeared as tired as she sounded. She turned her attention to Jyn and squared her shoulders. “Find them a place to sleep.”

“Yes,” Jyn said, although everyone in the room probably knew that Maddel was the only one in need of a bed. They did Cassian the niceties to not comment on it.

“Get some rest,” Imgiri advised, “all of you.” And she left the room, followed by the nameless Zabrak.

Sitara sighed: “I need a kriffin’ drink. Anyone interested?”

“I’m in,” said Maddel.

Jyn looked at Cassian with a silent question in her eyes, waiting for a cue.

Cassian nodded mechanically. “Yeah.” Maybe only to her eyes (she’d learned to read what was nearly invisible), he was back to being unnervingly blank.

Maddel unexpectedly caught Jyn’s eye, but they didn’t know each other well enough to be able to communicate anything with it. Perhaps it was to set up something for later. In any case, Maddel grabbed Cassian’s arm, stuck a crutch under it, and turned to follow Sitara.

⁂

The four of them sat in the mess hall with glasses of home-made alcohol—strong enough to knock out a rancor—in front of them. Except for Cassian, who’d gotten his hands on something an almost-but-not-quite-matching shade of amber. Giving the late-night hour, their only company was nocturnal personnel and insomniacs, but the room was far from deserted. A camp-base like this one never truly slept.

Sitara had emptied her cup a few times already, which diluted the sadness and replaced it with… a heartfelt recollection of memories.

“He was such an asshole,” she explained to Maddel, shaking her head, “but the good kind, y’know? Never getting shit from anyone and telling it to you straight. No fucking games.”

“Oh yeah,” said Maddel. “I know that kind. They’re kinda the best.” She waved her drink (also the latest in a series) in Cassian’s direction. “Only kind _he_ hangs out with, voluntarily.” Just as quickly, she gave the floor back to Sitara—the reason the rest of them had come. “How’d you meet him, anyway?”

“Ah, d’you ever hear of Rampa Two? Ugly planet in the CorpSec. I was there doing some…” She waved a dismissive hand in the air. “...smuggling jobs when shit went down. People staged an uprising against the Empire… didn’t go too well. They were shot at point-blank range. I almost got mobbed by a firing-squad, had lost my crew in this mess… I really thought I was done, then this guy gunned down five of his own and started to disperse civilians. You didn’t know, did you?” she asked Jyn. “He served in the Imperial infantry, and then… well, then it was me and him arguing over who got to steal that freighter and make it off-world. We ended up sharing. Turned out he had planned on deserting for a while but this was his last straw. He told me about that fighters group he’d heard of… wanted to meet with them and see if they were really worth it… didn’t want to be brainwashed into another ideology… or forced to do things he didn’t agree with. The irony is: I’ve never met someone more _loyal_. Anyway, I didn’t have a crew anymore and he offered to teach me basics about sapping so I stayed. We met with Imgiri after that… and the rest is history.”

Jyn hadn’t known about Zeke’s past. She didn’t know about anyone's past besides what they’d shared willingly. No questions asked: a great policy, but not without costs. It still gave her a sense of comfort—knowing that she wasn’t the only one with secrets, knowing that Zeke probably wouldn’t have given a shit about _Liana Hallik_ if he had known. She mourned the many opportunities she had to come clean and trust the man, to _really_ trust him. Now, it was too late for regrets.

“I remember when I met him,” Jyn said in turn. “Just after I’d been brought here… I wasn’t in great shape and everyone tried to clear me some space. And then this guy just walked up to me and said ‘you look like shit, what’s your problem’.” Jyn gave it her best imitation. A smirk appeared on her lips as she looked down at her drink. “I told him to fuck off, he wasn’t happy about it.” She laughed.

“I remember that!” Sitara said. “He said ‘watch out for that tiny bitch, she’s going to be so much trouble’.”

Maddel laughed. _“Please_ tell me you adopted ‘tiny bitch’ as a call-sign!”

“They wouldn’t let me. I had to settle for ‘firefly’. Such a disappointment.”

“Fireflies _can_ be tiny bitches,” Maddel suggested. “Did you know they can _swarm?_ Not usually aggressive but, I tell you, step on _one_ wrong spore…”

“Wow, people must be stepping on your wrong spore all the time,” Sitara grinned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jyn said and took another sip. “I can’t feel my guts anymore. Don’t know if it’s good or bad.”

“Do you usually?” said Maddel with concern.

Jyn had to give it a thinking but didn’t come up with an answer to that question. She simply shrugged and drank the last of her cup. “Guess I’ll know in the morning if I wake up completely hammered.”

“Yeah, just after being raised from the dead… Mama Raa isn’t going to be pleased,” Sitara nagged.

“Really?” said Maddel. “Seems like she’d understand. We’ve got rituals for this shit for a reason.”

“It’d be more about Hallik polluting her organs right after they got near-fatally damaged.”

“Ohhh. Yeah. You’re screwed.”

Jyn dramatically spread her arms, “Thanks guys, I appreciate the support.”

Maddel clinked her glass to Jyn’s. Her cheeriness almost camouflaged the acuity of her glance between Jyn and Cassian. “For health reasons, then, you wanna call it a night? I think Tara and I can carry on ourselves.”

Sitara didn’t seem to mind being given a nickname by someone who’d known her two hours.

“I’m still supposed to find you some accommodations,” Jyn said, “instead of… you know… getting drunk with you.”

“I can see to that,” Sitara said with a mocking laugh. “That bottle isn’t gonna finish itself… but I think your boyfriend had enough of our sappy shit.”

Maddel did a spit-take. “Pfassking skies, Professor; someone just applied, to _you,_ the word _‘friend’_.”

It was startling, after Maddell had been openly enabling Cassian’s silence; deflecting everything away from him. She clarified a second later with a shooing motion: “Go away so I can tell Sita in detail why that’s hilarious.” …her way of breaking his… sense of… obligation? to be here any longer.

Jyn took on the offer and stood up, feeling the gravity being restored in her body. “I’ll see you later,” she said to Sitara and nodded for Maddel, then waited for Cassian to join her.

He stood, downed the remainder of his drink, punched Maddel’s shoulder, and gave Sitara an intent, slightly more present nod. He didn’t try to apologize to her… try to take the credit/blame for Zeke’s death. That would be making the evening about himself, and they all knew _war_ and their parts in it, (they who were present and others who weren’t,) too well for that.

Jyn led them outside of the mess, sobering up with each step like a planned ending to that fabricated euphoria.

She had intended to give him the space he so clearly needed, but now feared that he would shy away from her even more. While they walked/hobbled without a sound along the yellow-lit corridor, she turned to him and said like an echo: “Wanna see something cool?”

Last time she’d said that, it had resulted in _his_ firefly story. Again, his response was immediate. “Yeah.”

A small relief allowed her to brush her hand against his free one. (He’d ditched one of the crutches already, and those who knew him decided it was impressive enough he’d stick with _one_.) “We have to go on a little adventure, come and help me steal a speeder.”

He raised both eyebrows—which was great progress: the most expressive he’d been all day. The look in his eyes even came closer as he turned his hand to wrap around hers.

Jyn went straight to a hangar, sneaking under the cover of the dark until she found what she was looking for. Cassian followed her lead right up to the point of revving the thing. Then he gently caught her arm to halt her. “I’m driving. You’ve been drinking.”

She paused, a mocking sound in her throat. “I’ve got a better tolerance than I display… What was in your cup anyway?”

“Chav tea. Cold. I’m off drinking, after Ord Mantell.” Instantly, a grimace and self-correction. “That’s a lie. Preprogrammed. Sorry. I never like it, if I don’t have to.” (…Was that the first outright lie, beyond a false name, he’d ever told her? Had everything else managed to be selective truth?)

“That’s nice,” said Jyn, “but you can’t drive with a crutch.”

He shrugged and tossed the crutch behind a crate. She opened her mouth to protest. He held up a hand to stop her and exaggeratedly crossed again to the speeder with barely a limp. —but then that was less important. At that moment, for the first time since he’d come back, she saw a glimmer of… not his usual self, but his _rarest_ self. The one of warmth that crinkled his eyes. That decided her. It was a recuperation even more vital.

“Alright…” Jyn surrendered. She settled on the engine and closed her arms around Cassian’s waist when he (almost smoothly) hoisted himself up before her. “Take the north trail, we’ve got to go around those mountains.” One of his hands lit atop hers for a quick squeeze before he put both on the controls. They took off.

The north trail was just that: a trail. No possibility for them to take the wrong turn, so Jyn relaxed and enjoyed her ride. The cold nocturnal air pushed her fatigue away and let her focus on her surroundings with acute clarity. They drove away from the base, endless crops field on each side of the road, growing taller than most sentient for the most part, and not a single soul in sight.

Jyn exhaled and pressed her face against his back, seeing the shadow of the rocky mountains shifting to their left until they passed a (still-expanding and unmanned) outpost. The crops grew even taller along the way, a persistent grassy smell against the humidity of the night. After a while, surrounded by high walls of purple-looking plantations, Jyn tapped on his shoulder. “Pull over, that should do it.”

It seemed that Cassian had pilotry certification. It also seemed that he hadn’t driven many speeders. Between those, his parking job was good enough. He took a moment to lean back into Jyn’s arms before disembarking; then unnecessarily offering her his hand. She shot him a look—but, when grabbing his hand _after_ slipping to the ground, she didn’t let go. She put an arm around him, barely disguising the support, (which, good for him, he accepted) as they wandered off the trail and straight into the crops. As she’d gauged, when deciding this exertion to be worth it, for him: his body language wasn’t relaxed, but, again, a marked improvement over how he’d looked the rest of the day. It was sometimes a mercy for tension to be _directed._

She wasn’t surprised that he didn’t question her. She was surprised that she managed to find back the right spot on her first try, all by herself. Stepping out of the agri-field, hair looking wild, they were past Genassa’s natural barrier. Ahead of them: a clear view of the infinite night sky, and right over the horizon: green northern lights streaking the darkness and swirling under the stars. The sight brought Cassian up short; freezing in the middle of the field to watch.

“I know what it is,” he said, voice distant in a different way. “But I haven’t actually gotten to see one before.”

“Imgiri showed me the first time I was here.” Jyn rested her head against him, looking up.

He said something that sounded like the language he’d called _his father’s._ And fell still and silent for another while.

“Can we find a place where we can still see it if we sit down?” he said at last.

Jyn looked around, scanning attentively. “If we walked over that slope, I think we can even lie down and stargaze. Come.”

Dry seeds cracked under their boots as they stomped the upward terrain. The brightness of the night sky made it effortless to move around, even without flashlights. Jyn finally sat on the ground and looked up, feeling unusually small in face of the universe. Cassian sat beside her, eyes fixed upward, shoulder touching hers.

“ _When you’ve been trapped in the dark for so long, it would be a lie to tell you that you can leave it all behind. But there’s beauty in the night, too, if you stop grieving the absence of sunlight_ ,” Jyn whispered. “That’s what she said to me.”

“That’s good,” said Cassian. “Wise. …Pfassk… The more time I spend with your people, the harder it is to understand… how we can disagree. At all.”

“Maybe it’s just like you and me… picking a side… not a wrong one, just a different one.” She paused and turned to look at him. “But I didn’t drag you out there to talk about politics.”

“Sorry,” he said. “I don’t want to, either. It comes out when I’m not focused enough.” _On keeping it in?_

Jyn carefully assessed the possible outcomes of the words she was about to say. “I’m not sure if you need to hear it, but I’m gonna say it… It wasn’t your fault, Cassian.”

The rest of him was motionless, except for his hand shifting to touch hers, in the grass. “…I know. That’s not… I know.”

Jyn wondered whether to ask or not. She offered her hand and decided to repay him for all the times he didn’t ask _her_. She couldn’t pry anything from him anyway. (He was a spy, for Force’s sake.) But, maybe, he would trust her enough.

Cassian took her hand. She knew of him, because she knew it of others and herself, that in moments like this, he would lock down. No emoting, only silence. Now… with visible strain, he tried doing the opposite. “I promised… myself, I guess… to find out if I could never lie to you again. That includes, omitting. But choosing to say something… if it isn’t… doesn’t that just… create judgment? pass burden…?”

Jyn put a gentle, yet assertive, pressure in her grip. “Talk to me,” she encouraged. “You can tell me anything. You don’t have to be alone.”

His thumb ran over her knuckles. He eased up his grip—yet hung on. “It was the right call. To get the most people out. The one I’d’ve made, too. He didn’t make me give the order. I’ve managed never to… Any time the Empire claims people would never give themselves for each other unless they’re forced…” He bit his tongue and shook his head. “Force knows I’ve done _so much_ _worse._ But this was the first time… I _didn’t_ _want_ it to be me. Because I’d promised you.”

He grimaced again, turning his eyes away from her and the aurora and the world. “See? That makes it sound like your fault. _It’s not._ And it’s no difference. It just… feels like… which to believe? I wanted a droid, not organic, partner for a lot of reasons. One’s having the reinforcement: logic over feelings. This time… _logic_ feels like an excuse. If I’m not the one who killed him, after all. To take my place.”

Jyn took a burning inspiration, at last.

She moved to kneel in front of him, still holding his hand, and cupped his face until he had no other choice but to look at her. So stubborn. “Cassian, you’re not a droid. I know you think it’d make things easier, but you’re _not_ and—oh gods—I’m so fucking glad you didn’t want it to be you.” She said it with her whole heart. “And I know what you said, about having to serve… nothing to choose over it… but if you’re ever going to choose _me_ over your death, it won’t ever be the wrong call.”

Silencing the protestations before he could form it, Jyn went on: “It won’t! Zeke didn’t die because it was the right call to make… He died because we’re at war _._ It’s not a promise you’ve made me, or you wanting to live. It’s war— _war_ kills people. It’s a negative-sum game. We’re already fucked no matter the outcome, but as long as you’re still alive… we can try again, we can find another way to not lose _more_.”

_— As long as you’re breathing, you can still fight._

Cassian’s eyes did something, at her words, that even she hadn’t seen before. They _widened._ He stared into nothing this time in a way that was the opposite of empty. She’d given him something to think about that had never occurred to him.

At last, he tried it again: speech instead of silence. “When I petitioned for sterilization, my CO asked me, how I expected to be _better_ at fighting, for the future, for others, by erasing any I most wanted, myself. Since meeting you, I can’t tell if I’m following truth or making one up, to justify what I want. I wonder… can I keep doing what I _have to…_ what I couldn’t leave even if I tried to turn away… can I be as much use if I _am_ trying to come back? Can I keep standing the war if I’m waiting for it to end? And when… things I’ve done… I thought I’d given _up_ any ‘end’ but one… But then I’m looking at Maddel, and think of everyone I’ve trained. If _they_ asked me, I’d say _‘Of **course**. _You _should_ hope to see the world you’ve tried to build.’ And I hope they’d get to live in it.

“…I want to come back, Jyn. I’m far away right now. But I’m working on it.”

“It’s okay,” she whispered and brushed his hair back. This time, he did react to the touch… and did tilt a little into it. “There’s something I’ve wanted to tell you after Worlport… about my parents. Maybe it’s not the right time… but I still want to tell you.”

She didn’t want to drag him away from his emotions, but if he could find an echo in her words, maybe it was worth trying— and then he silenced her conflict by turning to face her, at last, completely. “It’s the right time. Please tell me.”

“I grew up on Coruscant,” Jyn said. “My parents were scientists. My father… he worked for the Empire.”

She watched for his reaction, a part of her irrationally fearful of his rejection. He was looking at her steadily—if anything, her tension, anticipating his reaction, was what _gave_ him one.

“My dad was probably a stormtrooper,” he said softly. “I’m not gonna judge.”

Suddenly, she wanted to ask. Ask about his whole life and learn everything there was to know about him, to complete the map of all the things he had already told her, to be the one that knew him the most. But it was _such_ a visible improvement and reprieve, for him—in his face and eyes and whole body—to focus (so intently) on her, not himself. So she only nodded and went on, because if she didn’t push the words out now, she wouldn’t do it later.

“His work… I’m not sure what happened, but I guess he wanted a way out and they wouldn’t let him walk away. So we ran, the three of us. We went into hiding and spent the following years on Lah’mu… near the ocean… It was the best years of my life. I thought it would last forever. But nothing does…”

— _even if forever is just a minute with you._

“When I was eight, they came to my home. My father stayed behind. He tried to… stop them, I guess… My mother and I, we were supposed to run. They trained me. But she… left me. She left me and she went back. I didn't run. I know I should've but—” It became difficult to talk, to fully share with him something she had never told anyone else, not even Saw. “She tried to save him. I saw when they shot her. I had never seen someone dying before… They took my father away and probably executed him. I don't even know what they did with her body… if she's still there, where she fell, on the beach. I hid in the dark for days, terrified of my own shadow. I kept thinking it was just a bad dream and she would wake me up and smile… I was so angry at her afterward, for years… Why did she abandon _me_? If only she’d stayed with me. If only— she would still be alive. I wouldn't be alone… I couldn't understand why.”

Jyn had to stop in order to breathe, lost in her memories. She didn’t want to make the terrible mistake to chase after them. She searched for his eyes instead.

“I’ve never been in love before. I couldn’t understand why she went back that day… but now, I know. I know because I would go back for you. It doesn’t matter if my mother made the right call, she did the only one that matters.”

His hand tightened on hers. He raised the other to touch her face. In another moment, maybe it would have been a kiss. Right now, it was fine that it wasn’t; he might be _far away,_ it still came across. Affirmation. Unity. Pledge. Then his fingers slipped gently to brush the cord of her necklace. “When did she give you this?”

Jyn’s hand automatically searched for the familiar crystal around her neck. She could feel the outline through her shirt, as she hadn’t taken it off since Cassian gave it back to her.

“That same day, right before… The last thing she said to me was ‘trust the Force’. It’s true what you told me… The Force gave you to me. No matter what you’ve done, no matter how far you went, you’ll always belong with me. I promise.”

His eyes flickered, again, refocusing, and the distance wasn’t erased, but a flash of his old warmth suggested itself. “I didn’t know you remembered any of that.”

“I remember all of it.”

His eyes swept her face, the journey bringing him closer, back, by the minute. —and then he exhaled in surprise and the corner of his mouth actually curved upward. “…You know what I still don’t know?”

Jyn’s body relaxed, sitting closer on his lap. “What?” she smiled back.

He closed his arms around her, pulling them softly into each other’s curves; sealing her back to his chest and touching his face to hers. “Your _full name.”_

A soft laugh lifted her chest. “Jyn Seren Erso.”

That laugh finally brought the smile the rest of the way onto his face. “I’d wondered if I’d ever get to ask you: are you named after anyone? does that mean anything?”

“My mother was from Aria Prime. Seren means… well, ‘star’,” she smirked. “It’s almost like you figured this out on your own.”

He gaped. Then seized her tighter in a hug and pressed his face to her neck. It seemed for an instant as if he could cry.

“Trust the Force,” he echoed at last.

Jyn closed her arms around his shoulders, sharing warmth, listening to the sounds of the night. He rested against her, and even pressed a kiss to her shoulder, before opening his eyes, again, to the dancing lights. _Welcome home_ , Jyn thought.


	21. Zenith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **Zenith** _(astronomy)_ The point in the sky that is directly overhead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Partly, real life stuff has been afoot (pfft, real life), but also a bit that we're reluctant to finish this story. We've so loved writing together and sharing with you!!!! Still, one chapter yet to go; and you won't have seen the last of us—individually and hopefully together again /EYEBROW WAGGLE/

**21\. Zenith**

They sat by the sea to watch them play. In the water, Jyn was teaching Zee to body-surf. Nov sat in Cassian’s lap above the tideline. Zee had just gone wrong-way-up in a big wave, but Jyn was good and fast at turning his fear into excitement; course-correct and conquer. Nov watched them, sort of, but her eyes kept flickering around the rest of this microcosm: birds diving, crabs dancing, the waves themselves as forces of Space. The way she leaned back against Cassian’s chest made it hurt so badly, it eclipsed and knitted up every other hurt he’d ever known.

It was earlier, then. He and Jyn were alone, making love in the wet sand as the waves rose and fell upon them. It was so good, he felt he’d never stop coming into her, and the power and purpose of these drives, this connection—he felt her belly harden and swell between them, life Force rolling in like the ocean waves; and she went into labor without pain, until they lay down together, holding each other with their new children nestled between them in the cradle of arms and chests, the gentle waves a cleansing quilt.

Earlier, still, he knew they were on Halcyon. Though it looked like the forests of Yavin and mountains of Savroia and aurora of Genassa; twin moons circling, gentler than daylight. He and Jyn danced in the soft tide, in some twining of sex and waltz. They wound all their songs in and out of each other, as vows: Never to leave, never to be parted, to always help and serve, and to die at last at the same time, so they could solve the last mysteries the same way they discovered anything worthwhile: together.

The dreams faded as she wakingly turned and took him in her arms, and he made his devotions in the valleys of her, and she drew from him in the way that left _more_ behind, and he didn’t know how he’d be able to leave her. So, for a little while longer, he surrendered the knowledge that he had to; yielding to one of their _moments that was forever._

He could _feel…_ every movement, reflex and choice… sliding inside her, pulled where she gripped him, pushed as she bore down; he _needed_ to map all of this, down to the cell: what this felt like, who it was with—what she was doing and receiving and _trusting_ from him; this separate, unique layer of _universe_ that she opened to and held him in… everything they'd learned from each other, to share…

Sex could be a means to any number of ends. He’d sworn it would _never_ be that with her. It never was or would be, in that way; but right now, there _was_ something beyond this moment. Not to accomplish anything else, what it gave and communicated between them; but this time, it was also for them in whatever would come next. It was bringing the most sensitive and vulnerable and vivid fragments of himself to bear _because_ they could feel most acutely, to memorize and keep close and—

His lips tried to stay locked with hers but were forced apart to breathe. If only his lungs had the capacity he could feel bursting and piercing everywhere else… He dove hard and deep toward their shared molten peak, in need to the point of pain, the relief of where she guided him… while softly folding his palm to her temple and cheek to feel and hold her as other parts of him blacked out or were blinded with the connecting light. _"Jyn… Force… **Jyn** —"_

“Yeah,” she rasped. “Don’t stop, please… please…”

Her hands burned over his skin, leaving another type of mark, pleading on their own. Her spine curved toward him and the ‘take it easy’ rule was thrown by the airlock. Her knees bore harder in the mattress, on each side of him, as she moved over him in chase of her own pleasure. She exhaled a suppressed moan, a deep frown between her brows. “Ah, _fu—_ ” Jyn choked on her voice. Her head tilted back, exposing neck and hard jugular pulse, damp hair sticking to her skin, all of which he traveled with his lips and tongue instead of breath.

She whispered his name on a loop as she came, waves of pleasure passing through him where they merged. He pressed his face to her arched throat, her every heartbeat and contraction coursing through, letting them shake his shoulders and arms and down his spine and back of his skull. He felt his blood pound in exact time with hers. The crest of her waves nearly pulled him over, too. He managed to hold on… because he’d rather skip his than miss an instant of _hers_. (Loving how she closed on him and shivered through them both…)

Then they sat panting and ringing with aftershocks, skins singing at every touch. He pulled back his head at last, enough to look into her eyes. He wondered if his could ever communicate all his admiration and gratitude and… so much he couldn’t articulate any other way even in his own mind.

Jyn shaped the words on her lips without breaking the intimate silence. ‘ _I love you._ ’ She caught her breath, only to kiss him instead, her fingers trailing up to his hair. He let himself flex like a lothcat into her touch, not breaking the kiss. “You like that,” Jyn said softly, not sure if it was a question or a validation.

He traced her cheek with his profile, leaving breaths of kisses, until he could remember where his voice lived. “I’ve liked that since we met.”

Jyn rewarded him with a heartfelt smile. She brushed her fingers through his hair again, remembering how she had cut it during their first meeting at the Parallel, a few weeks and a lifetime ago. “What else do you like?”

“Pfassk…” He kissed the side of her neck and ran his hands down her spine, her hips. “I know you don’t mean… how I like the curve of your back… how you trust me on your neck… how you use your legs… seeing your eyes… your hands…”

“I meant all of this,” Jyn said. “You spent the night giving me quite a few orgasms to remember, I think we can turn the tables.”

Her just saying that sent a new surge through him, vibrating like a plucked string. He momentarily claimed the hinge of her jaw with his mouth.

“It’s always been about controlling how I affect someone else,” he said. It risked chilling the mood, but this was the point. “Not what I wanted.” (Or didn’t.) “I think I’m finding out… I’m very boring.” Coming in for another kiss, using them to draw the language from her skin and space for his mind. “I like… no timetable. No leverage. No motive. Mutuality. The opposite of violence.” He brushed her hair off the back of her neck, into his palm, letting it sift through.

“…and, yeah,” he added, “I like you touching… my head… my neck… I don’t know… it’s so unlike… who knows. I won’t compare anything.”

Jyn demonstrated his point by scratching his neck with her fingernails, making him instantly arch and almost growl. “Don’t call the man I love boring,” she whispered like a warning.

He also _so_ _liked_ her voice. And what she said with it… ‘ _I love’_ made him jolt deeper in her, resealing his palms around her thighs. “Yes ma’am,” he whispered back, his hands starting to roll her hips upon him. Jyn followed his input, her thighs spreading wider over him and taking him deeper. She held onto his shoulders and moved her body with deliberate intent, eyes still locked with him.

“The first time we met,” she voiced over a murmur, “I wished I could have sex with you… just because I _wanted_ to.” She kissed him deep, nipping at his bottom lip, holding his neck. The groan he couldn’t, didn’t restrain was at her voice and her teeth and her hand and… She pushed on her knees to gain some traction and thrust in opposite motion, tight and sleek around him. “You’re so warm, my love.”

“Jyn…” It was less a calling and more the only way the air could burst from him, at her movement, her body against him, arms and legs and walls around him… It came out of him again as she _kept_ doing it, and he wanted to have words, to tell her, to say it to her in return, but he couldn’t catch his breath enough for voice. So he kissed her instead, mouth and throat and face and mouth again, his hands leaving her incredible hips to slide around her waist and back and embrace her fully, holding tight to him, and he thrust and strained to _reach, higher, in, more, there… oh…_ the rising _light_ coming closer… closer… and… then… _blinding_ as he came into her. As with no one else in the universe but with her over and over, it took _all of him,_ pouring him out, doubling him up into and down against her, the pulse in his temple pressed to the matching one in her throat.

They stayed unmoving for a handful of raging heartbeats, surrounded by silence and shadows—and none of it could drag them down for as long as they held each other. The scent of her skin filled his lungs. He aimed to memorize every single note of her, take her with him wherever and for however long… if only he really could…

Inevitably, Jyn had to leave his embrace. She rolled off him and lied down in the small bed, her lips parting with a sound of exhaustion. Even so, one of her hands stayed on him as a lifeline, running up his back and trying to coax him to lie down with her. Maybe he shouldn’t… maybe it would just be harder to get up again if he let himself lie down… Pfft, pfassk that. This was going to be hard no matter what; let them take what they could and hang onto forever. He lowered himself down, half beside her, half upon her, where he could keep his face turned to hers, his fingers tangled in her hair, their heartbeats together.

“Do you remember that first night we slept together?” she asked. “I’m not sure… when you left… did you kiss me?”

‘Slept’ or _‘slept’?_ —Nevermind. It had to be the first. The first time they _slept_ together, there’d been no leaving. “On your forehead. Yes.”

Her attention focused on his lips with a pensive frown. “I thought I dreamed that.”

As if they didn’t like being the cause of such an expression, his lips came in to brush her cheek. Jyn hummed a sound of contentment. Glad, Cassian shifted his weight more onto his back, replacing the touch he was removing from her that way by slipping his arm beneath her and gathering her in. She tangled her legs in between his and snuggled against him, as if they could’ve fit even _closer_ , as if she couldn’t stop touching him… not even after this sleepless night… not even for a minute. He turned in to meet her, always. His mind flitted briefly to larger beds he’d shared with partners he’d been relieved to let go of. But he wasn’t thinking of _them._ He was thinking that if he ever got to share something like that, or any amount larger than a barracks bunk, with _Jyn,_ they’d _still_ take up only this amount of space. Let the rest go vacant. They’d always press together this closely.

For a while, Jyn simply brushed back his hair in a soothing motion, tracing the shape of his ear with her fingertips. Then she said: “I’ve got something for you.”

He blinked his eyes open, drawing back his head enough to see her face. “What?”

She reached behind her, where her field jacket was pinned on the headboard, and fumbled through pockets. The next moment, her back relaxed and she brought her hands around his neck, fastening the crystal necklace at his nape.

The shock overtook his face as he propped himself up, to touch the pendant. “Jyn… I can’t, she gave it to _you.”_

“Now it’s yours,” she said, the faintest trace of a smile on her lips. “For as long as I’m not with you… You’ll have to give it back the next time we meet.”

The promise. _Next time._ His fingers curled around the crystal ’til it dug into his palm. Looking into her eyes, he nodded. And ducked in to kiss her. And leaned back, thoughts spinning. He had thought about getting something to give to her, and had decided against it, as too… _final._ People gave keepsakes when they considered something to be _over._

There hadn’t been discussion. They both just knew. They weren’t going to leave their respective causes. They weren’t going to stop serving, stop fighting. It was too much of who they were, and neither wanted the other to give up who they _were,_ for anything, not even for each other. _How could I love someone you weren’t?_

But accepting each other’s physical absence, _temporarily,_ (however long that would prove,) was _not_ the same as _leaving each other._

…Oh… _Oh_ … Maybe it was a grotesque idea, but once it came into Cassian’s head, he wouldn’t refuse it.

He squeezed her shoulder then pushed himself from the bed. He crossed the room, naked except for the pendant—that he was never going to take off except to give back to her—and grabbed his jacket, so he could make best speed returning to sit at her side. Only there, he turned the material until he bared the ID transponder. He clicked open its hidden compartment. He turned again to Jyn, held out his hand for hers, and released the tiny object into her palm. “This… is my promise. Where, how, to whom, I give my life. I will never, _never,_ _choose_ to leave you.”

Jyn’s hand closed around the pill, holding so tightly. “Thank you,” she said, voice filled with emotion, “for everything.”

“You, too…” He bent again, touching his forehead to hers, their chests meeting as they both deeply breathed.

“I _am_ taking you with me,” he said softly. “I hope you know.”

Her nose brushed against him. “I know,” she whispered.

He turned the last millimeter to touch their lips. He took hold again of the kyber crystal, where it now lay touching both of them, cradled between their breasts like the dreamed children. _Until I give this back._

⁂

Piercing the thin atmosphere of PM-103, mere hours after Imgiri’s team landed, the unmarked U-wing smoothly touched down. In the middle of the abandoned Galactic Republic tarmac, Cassian stood at parade rest beside Imgiri, Jyn, Jan-lo, Maddel, Sefla, and a small party of shifters.

He thought he’d blacked out when Mon karking Mothma stepped onto the ramp.

Then, beside her, Davits feking Draven.

And, behind him, … _ **!!?!?!!**_

“Welcome to Fort Anaxes,” Imgiri greeted the newcomers with a perfectly flat tone.

“Thank you,” said Mon Mothma. _Her_ tone always made the one(s) who heard it feel uniquely welcomed and appreciated—even those who knew it was crafted to make everyone feel that way.

She’d paused on the ramp to let Draven and— _yes holy fucking Force and all the ash-rabbits on Sullust— **K-2SO** ,_ precede her. They looked keenly around, then flanked her when Mon Mothma finally joined them. Kaytoo started to pause his oculars on Cassian. Draven clicked his tongue, and Kay snapped back into scanning.

“Pardon my security team,” said Mothma. “I wanted to meet with you myself, and this was the requirement I accepted from the council.”

“That’s fair,” Imgiri acknowledged. “I have my own security measures.” Cassian felt a rush of warmth at the inside knowledge that tiny, 1.6m Jyn was likely her deadliest bodyguard.

Mon Mothma nodded. “Of course. Well, then. I’m Mon Mothma. I greet you on behalf of the Alliance to Restore the Republic. This is Major General Davits Draven, who will consult in our negotiations; and _formerly_ Imperial—” necessary disclaimer, with the mark still on his shoulders, “—security droid K-2SO, partner to Commander Andor. Thank you for agreeing to meet, and above all, for the rescue of our people.” She looked at them. “Commander Jan-lo, what is your condition?”

“I’m comfortable planetside ’til we leave, High Commander,” said Jan-lo. (Truth and a broader confirmation.)

“Excellent.” Mon Mothma turned her full attention to Imgiri. “I am at your service.”

Evident enough to anyone looking at the scene, the Mirialan didn’t share Mothma’s graceful political mannerisms. Her posture stayed alert, untrusting of too much benevolence… but not outwardly aggressive. From the few occasions Cassian had spoken with her, Imgiri had always cut straight to the point, pragmatic and level-headed (to be noted _:_ not unlike a certain CO). This time was no different. “Let’s get inside,” Imgiri said, pointing her chin at the military infrastructure still standing on the rock. “We already checked the perimeter but your people can do another swipe. Guarantee fyrnock-free.”

(Fyrnocks. Local creatures that looked like spikier, more tanklike relatives of the unshakeable pfassking Houjix. Seemed like the moment he gave it an opening, the Force would keep needling him.)

Draven raised an eyebrow at Cassian and Sefla. Both nodded. Draven passed the nod to Mothma. “Thank you,” said Mothma to Imgiri, “a further sweep won’t be necessary.”

“Jan-lo, Maddel, Sefla,” said Draven, “dismissed. Prep to leave. K-2SO, guard this door. Andor, with me.”

Cassian replaced Kay at Mothma’s side. Being invited into the room wasn’t a surprise; he’d initiated this and might have to confirm things he and Imgiri had already discussed. At the same time, he knew his prime role would be bodyguard, to only speak if called upon. Jan-lo, Sefla, and Maddel saluted and left promptly. For Kay, nobody but Cassian would (be able to) read much into a slight head angle, but Cassian suspected Kay was exasperated not to be invited into the room with Cassian. Surely, though, not surprised. Kay’s brand of ‘negotiation’ would make any lack of finesse from Imgiri seem like an Alderaanian diplomacy banquet. No open familiarity passed between Kay and Cassian, either, as they passed each other, Kay to the outside of the door, Cassian inside. Cassian only angled his head slightly in confirmation when Kay’s oculars momentarily locked on him. Out of all this situation making Cassian wonder if he wasn’t just hallucinating, seeing Kay was such a bolstering relief. They had a lot to catch up on.

(…if only getting to be alone with Kay probably wouldn’t come until after parting with Jyn. When deciding to make their goodbyes _before_ this meeting, Cassian and Jyn had understood that once this phase started, and they were in these roles, they might not get to break them again. And neither would try to. Not until this unexpected, precarious thing was done. Cassian just put himself solidly into the frame of mind where _himself_ was hardly present at all, beyond pieces of capability and knowledge. …Only excepting the sensation and slight weight of kyber over his heart.)

“I have no doubt you already have your intel, but I should introduce myself,” Imgiri said, her acute gaze flickering between Mothma and Draven as she came at rest against a cargo crate (long emptied by previous smugglers). “I’m Imgiri Raa, and as this moment, I represent the Third State Federation.”

Only two Shifters had followed inside the prefab storage room with the rest of them: Jyn, who placed herself against a wall, claiming a vantage position to effectively keep an eye on the scene, and a tall Zabrak individual whose face tattoos almost appeared faded in comparison to the jet-black ink on Imgiri’s skin.

“This is Salem Saros,” she angled her head at the man, “our head of med-rescue.” No introduction was made for Jyn, which was another type of introduction in itself. “I'll warn you, I’m not a politician… nor an officer. _Avant_ , my work was as a biochemist. I have no talent for subtleties and reverence, even less in Basic. Don’t let it distract you from the content.”

“I consider myself in your debt,” said Mothma, “for alerting us to possible advantage. I was a politician before I became a Rebel. I can only promise, if I think or speak like a politician, it is with a mind to those I serve, not to manipulate or deceive.”

Mon Mothma would be true to that promise. Draven and Cassian had not been included in it.

“Let’s address the rancor in the room,” Imgiri said, “though every life we can save is valuable, I didn’t put my people and my resources on peril from the goodness of my heart. I made a deal with your agent and he delivered. Now, that leaves us with even bigger concerns… It becomes apparent that whatever the Empire is scheming, it’ll wipe us all if we don’t stand the line.”

Mothma nodded to Draven. “ _They_ seem to think so,” he said. “Projects we’ve come to believe are linked go back years. We can track some over a decade. Their conquests seem more for resource acquisition at the expense of political or military footholds. They’ve weakened their presence in several systems and nearly depleted their own funds three times over. Whatever they’re up to, they’re throwing everything behind it—and hanging everything on it. Best-case scenario: The Emperor’s lost his mind and will destroy the Empire from the inside as they keep obeying his unhinged commands. Not-great case: that, but with the accompanying damage to everyone else. Worst case… whatever it is actually warrants the confidence they have that we won’t be able to turn this singular focus into a weakness.”

“Most of their efforts are now turned to the Burke’s, and to Jedha. Hallik here,” Imgiri finally acknowledged Jyn’s presence—who didn’t move a single muscle, “has spent several months on site. But as though we have competent spies, we are not designed as a military force capable to tank an enemy. It’s not our purpose. You say so yourself… _terroristes,_ guerrilla dogs. It’s fine with me. Our methods serve our goals—which has been a long point of contention with your people.” She paused, scanning her audience cautiously. “But I believe it’s become urgent to reconsider positions. In evolutionary terms, we’d call that interspecies arms race: if you don’t adapt, you go extinct.”

Mon Mothma took the floor back from Draven, focused on Imgiri. “What adaptation do you suggest?”

(—for an instant, first, Cassian was pierced by her eyes on _him._ It was so quick, maybe he’d imagined it. Maybe he’d slipped and was projecting his thoughts onto her. _[How differently could the Alliance and the Shift be operating if they sent **us** , similar agents, after the same target…?]_ Of course, if anybody not also in the muck could actually think this way, given things she’d written in reports and said to Draven and even Cassian directly… maybe it would be Mon Mothma.

How would it go, in her voice…? _We do the ugly and dishonorable things, too. We just can’t be **seen** to do them. People looking from outside have to be able to see a difference between us and the Empire. That’s the politics. We still do what’s necessary. Unlike you, we’re just dishonest about it. We have people like Cassian do it in the shadows._

He wondered if she _would_ say it. And if that would help him unravel which he found to be better.

…No. He knew already. Something Draven had told him right after recruitment: _The Empire does terrible things. If we don’t stand up, they keep doing them and benefit from them. Sometimes all we can do are our own terrible things to turn **against** them. Shorten their reign, so it can stop. But, yes… whoever’s doing it, it’s still terror. That’s why Mon Mothma tries everything else first._

And she did often succeed in making the dirty work unnecessary. Where she failed… to Cassian’s mind, it still made a difference. Even if the Alliance included people like Draven to make the calls and Cassian to perform the acts that weren’t supposed to be part of it—would have no place in the universe they were trying to build—keeping the utmost leader of the Alliance with intact morals and clean hands _was_ something that mattered. Was a difference.)

Imgiri leaned back against the crate, as trying to decide if her audience was trustworthy enough for her next words. She uncrossed her arms and set her cards on the table.

“We notoriously raid Imp’ facilities for armaments, resources… leave a few bombs behind us most of the time, so they can’t claim it _back._ It becomes a problem when we run into rebels instead, competing for the same evolutionary advantage. We’re butchering our efforts this way, I want a more effective design. I want something you have and I’ll give you something you want.”

Mon Mothma, still courteous, “What would that be?”

“When he’s not patching people up,” Imgiri explained with a hand in the air, “Saros is a microbiologist. He and his team have been growing bacta colonies in the most precarious conditions… doing some Force-sent miracles. The bacteria themselves are not the problem. They’re fairly easy to cultivate if you have the right knowledge, and provided with adequate material, the production would be virtually impossible to dry up. Enough to export to _others_. But we need medical-grade equipment and special ships to transport our production, to keep it viable. That’s from the few things you can’t acquire on the black market. Something generous benefactors could provide.”

Mothma compressed her lips. “It’s doable. But it hinges on how we actualize an _effective design._ I see your reasoning. And it would take someone considerably wiser than myself to pass absolute judgment on how far the ends do justify the means. But… I’m afraid your observation also holds. I cannot enter the Alliance into an arrangement that condones or willfully ignores some of your efforts. I’m not sure I see a way around that while coordinating targets.”

“Some of our efforts brought you those men back,” Imgiri pointed, stone-cold voice. “Do you think we just asked nicely? If it hadn't been for a spy of mine doing dirty work under Black Sun, we’d never had that intel. He died for it. As did another shifter. If you don’t want to associate with us where people can see, I understand. I don’t ask you to. I know what you’re trying to build… but you don’t fight an enemy like the Empire playing by the rules. I’m not going to change methods while it gets us results—and frankly, you could use some of that, too. Cooperation has proven to be… rewarding.”

“I don’t criticize the mission to Kaer,” said Mothma. “That was a prisoner extraction off a militarized target. That is not the sort of ‘effort’ I refer to. It is when noncombatant targets are dealt with using the _same_ methodology. Answering political corruption with bombs. Kidnapping adjacent innocents. It is a level of collateral damage we cannot write off.”

“But granting immunity to a trafficker, virtually allowing him to wreak more innocent lives, is acceptable collateral damage?” Jyn suddenly asked from the far back.

“Hallik,” Imgiri stopped her without a shout.

“Apologies,” she smirked with dry sarcasm, “you fine people may resume.”

Mothma turned to look at Jyn directly. “The immunity we offered was in part to remove him from the board. He would never be a decent person, and it is appalling to see justice _not_ being served; but we thought to put him in a position where the only way for him to exert his compulsive drive for power would be to assist _us_ in deconstructing his own old networks; while, under our ‘protections’, restricted from building new ones. It was a gamble. In our projections, that path stood to be more impactful, on the interconnected systems, than delivering individual justice.”

Cassian and Draven shared a glance. _To be fair,_ they said, Draven would have been in Jyn’s camp of _don’t ‘gamble’ with those lives. Be positive. Kill him._

“Well,” said Jyn, “your projections _suck._ ”

“Hallik!” Imgiri snapped again. “ _Si tu as besoin de prendre l’air, la porte est juste là_.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Jyn mumbled through her teeth.

Mon Mothma stayed with Jyn. “There were many who disagreed with me, as you do. We who prevailed, in that instance, could not claim certainty that our hopes would come to pass. If we’d had you in the room for the debate, perhaps the results would have been different. All I can say is that it _was_ a debate, within our own ranks. We are wary of allowing ourselves blanket justification.

“But, again, these are not the lines along which I see Shift and Alliance diverge. Disagreement is not the same as incompatibility. There are instances where there would have been _no_ debate. Such as executing those who have already surrendered, breaking rules of engagement, targeting civilians. In the past two years, the Shift has brought violence against such targets as the Bengel Shipbuilders on Ord Thoden—”

“I’ll let you know Bengel has been franchised under the Tenloss Syndicate,” Imgiri replied—and maybe it was his own projection of personal intel, but Cassian almost felt the abrupt spike in Jyn’s pulse. “Yes, we don’t care about rules… we don’t play fair against an enemy that has no mercy on us. Yes, we target civilian facilities when they associate with the Empire. And if others think twice before doing the same because they’re afraid, then _good_. All I care about is helping those who can’t help themselves. If that makes us bad people, for doing bad things… so be it. Might come a time when you’ll be glad it was us and not you.”

In his lap, under the table, Cassian’s hand became a fist. To his grim gratitude, Mon Mothma went there herself. “It’s not a question of being ‘bad people’. Have you not found that extreme action ensures extreme response when the situation may otherwise have been de-escalated? And, there are many reasons why the vulnerable may ‘associate with the Empire’.”

Again, probably only Cassian could read it; the slightest shift of Draven’s shoulders anticipating disagreement. _There isn’t always time for that kind of speculation._

“I admire your optimism,” Imgiri said in all transparency. “As for me, it’s not something we can afford. Bystanders helping the Empire are still _helping_ killing others. Silence _is_ compliance. I’m giving people a clear choice, it might not be an easy one—but it’s all we have right now. If they don’t walk away when I ask, I cannot force them.”

Mothma nodded, her eyes running over all of them. “I have to believe otherwise. That it’s _all we have now._ If the only option is to behave the way the Empire does, that means how the Empire behaves _is_ how it all works. Or, by making us unable to see alternatives, they have succeeded in assimilating us after all. I understand that this may sound like prioritizing the abstract over the concrete. That may be fair comment. At the same time, I cannot see this as a fight solely waged on the material level. As the Jedi once framed it, there is also the matter of which _force_ one uses and serves. That seems to have been a component of this war all along, and, if we do not as firmly understand, I think it unwise to forget. …However, I fear this does not address our immediate goal.”

“I don’t think we can ever agree on principles,” Imgiri somberly said. “But we’re _not_ indistinct and some lines will never be crossed. If it gives you any insights, I have never executed those who surrendered to us. I guess this one is feeding off of our reputation… As a matter of fact, one of the men we lost on Kaer was a former Imperial officer who integrated with us years ago.”

“Indeed?” Mothma raised her eyebrows again. “Thank you, I am glad to be corrected. It’s good we are discussing this face-to-face. Obviously, the distance between us has become at least partly self-perpetuating.”

“A few days ago, I didn’t trust you enough to even envision a meeting.” Imgiri turned her attention to Cassian, then went back to the senator. “To be clear, I still don’t—but Andor is a convincing advocate… and even with different directives, he and Hallik have managed to score the most effective outcome possible. It might set a precedent. You most probably need that bacta as much as we need those ships.”

“There have been too many times,” Mothma agreed grimly, “when lives were lost that didn’t have to be, from bacta shortage.” Draven nodded.

“I don’t expect us to become friends today. We came here to escort your people back to you. You have my offer now, and the assurance that everything I’ve told you is agreed upon by my side. You can discuss it at length with whoever you need to…”

Draven raised one finger to claim attention. “Commander; Raa raises an interesting point. Andor and Hallik _did_ find a way to reconcile their missions, to our mutual benefit. If Raa finds Andor good to work with… maybe that’s something to expand on.”

Cassian let his eyes flicker, just for a moment, to Jyn’s. He felt they were being given far too much credit for chance _(the Force?)_ happening to work out in _spite_ of their actions. Then again…

Mothma looked thoughtful, glancing at Imgiri, then Jyn, then Cassian. She began to smile.

⁂

Kaytuesso had a patience problem. It was sometimes theorized that the reason Organics had impatience and impulsiveness was because they knew they were going to die; thus, felt pressured to maximize the time they had. Kay didn’t have his own expiration to worry about. He was nonetheless affected by _Cassian’s_ mortality. Wasting _his_ limited time was infuriating.

Though, probably, Kay also just got annoyed, projecting what knots others might tie themselves in that could prove utterly unnecessary if only they just listened to Kay’s input to begin with. Or had him there, with his superior processing powers, to sort through things as they went.

So Kay stood guard outside the meeting room feeling utterly irritated. Not just for the sake of the meeting itself—even knowing that was the priority. But because he wanted to know what the 01101101 01101111 01100110 01101111 01001000 01100101 01101100 01101100 Cassian had been up to, in this longest span they’d spent apart. Would it affect anything? How could he know _before_ finding out? It could be dormant. It could be urgent.

The door opened. Kay expected to maintain bodyguard position for Senator Mothma, but General Draven relieved him with a hand signal. That seemed like a dubious idea—still on this planet, in the presence of Shifters—but perhaps Draven wished to speak to her alone… fine. Kaytuesso wouldn’t complain since it freed him to focus, early, _finally,_ on Cassian.

—who hadn’t yet exited the room. As all the others went past, Kay presumed to stick his head through the doorway..

He was just in time to see Cassian seize the hand of a Shift agent (1.6m tall, female presenting, 4E342E hair, FBE9E7 skin, 558B2F eyes, body language of a fighter). They gave an uncustomarily ardent stare between them, and exclaim-whispered something about, _“…working together… we **will** see… more than we hoped…”_

Then Cassian’s eyes moved and met Kay’s oculars. Despite sometimes proclaiming otherwise, especially for others’ benefit, Cassian never seemed genuinely displeased to see Kaytoo. In this instance, he did look… caught out. Cassian looked back at the Shift agent, hefted their hands, and—still one of the only organic creatures who could startle Kaytoo— _smiled._ Then he let go and crossed to Kay, colliding his knuckles with Kay’s chassis in the way Kay had classified: _fondly._

“I missed you,” said Cassian to Kay.

“You have only yourself to blame,” said Kay— not without ‘fondness’ back. “I would have joined you at any time.”

Cassian _laughed._ Kay would like to think it was the relief of their reunion, but with the Shift agent still nearby…

 _(…‘there’s this woman’,_ Cassian’s communique had gone.

Huh.)

Draven reappeared and called through the doorway, “Andor. A word.”

Cassian glanced between them before going—leaving Kaytoo and the Shifter alone together.

What the hell. “I’m Kaytuesso,” Kay said, not wasting time on a thing like _transition._

“I’ve heard of you,” she said, looking up to match his height. “I’m glad to meet you in person. I’m Hallik.”

She was polite to him. That was nice. Organics often weren’t. (Nothing to do with Kay’s eschewing of niceties to _them._ Of course not.) “Cassian just said you two would be working together.”

“Yes…” Something in her expression didn’t match the intonation of her words. “That’s the game plan apparently. He’ll represent the Alliance, I’ll represent the Shift, and we’ll share information and coordinate on their behalfs. So I guess I’ll see you around, too.”

“Unless, like this past mission, I am excluded from Shift-relevant assignments. Although nobody knew this _would_ be Shift-relevant. So, yes, probably.” Kay’s oculars flickered as they ran a few refocuses and spectral filters over Hallik’s face; mapping what Cassian and Draven quasi-accurately called ‘microsignals’ cross-referencing pulse and temperature. “Your affect suggests false calm over intense emotion. If that emotion is negative toward Cassian, I suggest you say so now. Your failure to do so will further encourage me to accompany him to your meetings.”

Hallik laughed. “I have no negative emotion toward Cassian,” she said, then her face became less warm, “I just hate goodbyes.”

Kay flickered his oculars; half rapid (re)calculation, half in the way he knew Humans registered as emotive. “Oh! You’re in love with him?”

She stared at him with wide-opened eyes as if he had punched her in the guts. It took her a grand total of twenty-three seconds to articulate another sound. “I can only imagine how entertaining it would have been having you on Ord Mantell with us.” (Sarcasm detected.) “But yes, I am.”

Outright confirmation. Yes, Hallik continued to be refreshing. Kay decided it would be regrettable if her feelings were (as was 93.5% likely) being manipulated or exploited. He knew that Cassian’s features placed him in the ninetieth percentile of ‘attractiveness’ by the majority of Humanoid species, and this was not a point of pride for him; more often, pain or shame, for being called upon to utilize/weaponize this _[sic]_ ‘unearned’, deeply instinct-based attribute.

Kaytoo didn’t speak these thoughts. Just in case this _was_ the situation and he mustn’t blow it. He did wonder how durable that arrangement would be, when Organics—contrary to every other way their objectivity intersected with their emotions—seemed to get _better_ at detecting insincerity at their most instinctive. But the bigger risk, with Cassian so good at simulating sincerity, was that Cassian himself had more limited tolerance for such simulation.

For Cassian and Hallik _both_ , then, Kay hoped the connection might be genuine. Whatever that might mean for Cassian, whose track record already sprawled across what were widely considered immutable lines. Not for the first time, nor on the first front, Kay felt firmly glad not to be organic and have to function through such chaos.

“Then congratulations,” said Kay. (Only .2 seconds had elapsed for his assessments.) “The situation appears to have fallen in your favor.”

Hallik raised her right eyebrow, a hint of… amusement (?) in her eyes. “I guess you could say that.”

“I just did.” Kay tilted his head to consider her from yet another angle. “Have you—?”

He detected vibration in the pattern of _Cassian’s steps._ He turned as his partner reappeared, eyes flickering again between them.

“What did Draven say to you?” said Kay. “If not confidential.”

“Oh,” said Cassian, as if casually, “just a warning, from his perception of our relationship.” The way his hand subtly reached from his side to brush Hallik's made Kay up his probability assessment that this was _not_ a simulation.

“I’m sure I’ll get the Imgiri version,” Hallik said. “They seem… disturbingly alike.”

“No wonder we got along,” said Cassian with a small smile.

(His smiles were bigger when they were false. More eyes than mouth indicated sincerity. Kay upped the probability further and tipped into _likelihood._ Projections shifted accordingly. For years, measuring Cassian’s particulars against Organic functionality/propensity statistics, Kay’d anticipated this would happen. Cassian possessed both sexual and romantic drives (however sublimated and subverted), and a demonstrable, contrary to his own protests, active sense of deprivation for _[sic]_ ‘connection’. It was odds-defying that it _hadn’t_ happened until now. At least, this was the first Kay had been informed of, and certainly the first he’d witnessed. He started wondering how much of Cassian’s well-being might grow to depend on Hallik’s and their interactions. He made note: possibility of writing his own subroutine on how, within any given [mission] parameters, they could maximize the duration and frequency of Cassian and Hallik’s encounters. Kay might even make certain to leave them alone together.)

Kay also assessed that Cassian would be unresponsive if Kay brought any of this up now. —and more prolongedly than if Kay avoided peak defensiveness in full. He’ll ask when they’re alone. Probably in the cockpit for the trip home. Cassian usually sought distraction in that setting and might even give Kaytoo the whole story.

Hallik returned the smile, though hers appeared distressed. “You should get going, Commander.”

Cassian gave Kaytoo a glance that 73% likely meant _go away,_ but Kay waited until Cassian said it aloud. “Go ahead, Kay. I’ll catch up.”

Kay said to Hallik—courteously, as far as he was concerned: “I hope your capacity for equilibrium can withstand the influence of attraction.”

As he walked away, his sensors registered sounds of Cassian taking Hallik in his arms, kissing her, and whispering, “Just a month. And regularly, after that. More than we’d hoped for.”

And Hallik’s voice, very different than when she’d spoken to Kay: “Stay alive for me.”

Obeying the request, Kaytoo’s retreat finally took him too far to be able to detect how Cassian responded.


	22. Rogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **rogue planet** _(astronomy)_ any planetary-mass object that orbits a galactic center directly rather than a star or substellar object.

**22: Rogue**

> Scarif, Outer Rim Territories  
>  3277 LY/0 BBY

Jyn pulled the broadcast lever.

She watched the screen flash. She couldn’t read it through the haze, but she heard the voice: _“Transmitting.”_

Her breath came in racked, tearless sobs of relief and elation. She had to grip the panel to keep from falling as vertigo stronger than anything she’d suffered in her climbs overtook her. She wanted to shout, but she lacked the strength. She wanted to laugh at the heavens, at the fleet and the Death Star, but she lacked the strength for that, too. Instead, she turned to Cassian, who still waited in the smoke.

Jyn lunged to him and desperately grabbed his arm, voiced almost failing. “I thought you were dead,” she gasped, “I thought I lost you.”

_I thought this was the end… where I give my life, too. To be with you. Forever._

He looked at her, drinking her in like he’d been waiting to for years. (Hadn’t he? hadn’t they?) The slightest change to the muscles around his eyes and mouth transformed the entirety of him, in the way nothing else in the universe did except looking at _her._ He turned over his hand to return her grip.

—but his other hand stayed rock still, blaster aimed at—

Exhaustion subdued to euphoria to rage in a matter of milliseconds.

In her life, Jyn had never felt so much hatred from another being. The man who lay in a heap down the end of the blastersight had killed her mother, her father, destroyed her entire life, and almost killed the man she loved, too. How personal a war could feel, stripped from grandiose ideas and armies. She wanted him _dead._ She wanted to… She made a leap to kill him. It wouldn’t be the first person Jyn killed. But maybe with this one… _put a stop to it, cure my soul, get revenge._

Cassian’s hand around her wrist stopped her. His arm trembled with the tension of holding her back—a wire she could snap if she decided to; but the imploring softness of his hold, even in this… “Leave it,” he breathed, begging her back to him. “Leave it.” He didn’t have the breath for it all, but she could imagine— _Please, don’t leave me, even to hurt him, not now—_ “Stay with me.”

Jyn listened. And from the years they had spent together, she had begun to believe Cassian knew her more than she knew herself. She had to let this go. She had to close that door forever, now. Save herself from the downfall of violence… from the same thoughts she had when, in what felt like another life, she hadn’t walked away from Knaze Sert.

She turned to Cassian again and held him with a firmer grip. “Let’s go. How far can you walk?”

By now, Jyn could read the slightest reangle of his head as clearly as if he’d fallen down in relief. “Let’s find out.”

She didn’t like those odds. Everything else dissolved from her mind, refocusing the strength she had left to basic survival. She slung his arm over her shoulders and moved them towards the turbolift, with the urgent need to leave this doomed place and never return. With every step she took, closer to an escape, Jyn silently prayed to whoever would listen— _we’re gonna make it, you and me._

Cassian leaned on her with all the trust they’d wrested back from everything and everyone else in their lives. He was limping, but her strength, their synchronicity, and his having learned to take her help were giving them ground. Also, left him enough breath to murmur, “Do you think… anybody’s listening?”

“I do,” Jyn said, soft and earnest. “Someone’s out there.”

They _had_ to. For all the people they had left behind… for all they had lost, today, ever.

Jyn carried them into the turbolift and let Cassian lean against the wall, still holding him close, as they began their descent into uncertainty. She didn’t know what they’d find at the base of the Citadel tower, whether Death troopers awaited them or if any help would be available. But while she looked into Cassian’s eyes in silence, Jyn found that it didn’t matter. No matter what they had to face, still, they would be together. His gaze back at her was clear: it was her, not his failing body or the metal wall, not even her physical support but… _herself,_ that kept him upright. His grasp tightened gently where he held on. They would find a way. They already had.

“Stay with me,” Jyn echoed over a murmur.

“All the way,” he whispered back.

Jyn gave him the shadow of a smile. Her bruised hand rested over the side of his face. He leaned into her until their foreheads touched. That door would open again and they’d find out if there was still fighting, if anyone was still alive, if they could get away, if they’d stay so. Right now, though… holding each other up in total exhaustion and gratitude, in the separate universe of this little box moving through space; it was one of those _seconds that was forever._

⁂

Bodies laid scattered on the beach. A crashed ship was on fire. The reprise of the elevator had lowered adrenaline, so Cassian was _less_ steady on his feet. Jyn felt the impulse to put herself between him and the bodies so he didn’t have to see anyone he knew, even while she squinted hard through the swirling screen of black smoke, trying to locate any remaining allies—Rebels, Shifters, _anyone—_ still alive.

More pressing, even, she tried to locate a way off Scarif. And although she had never been confident in her own piloting skills, anything would do.

A shift of wind rustled the trees, standing and toppled alike. It brought a new host of terrible, familiar smells to their dulled senses. It reshaped the thick smoke of the freshest fire, and for just a moment, it parted like a curtain—

“Delta-class shuttle.” Cassian, hoarsely, in her ear, nodding beyond the smoke. “Those are for officers. It’s here instead of the landing pads… it’ll be intact if it just came for—?”

“Well, I’ll take it,” Jyn decided, not interested in the specifics. If that ugly thing could fly them away, it was good enough.

Still supporting Cassian with one arm, her other hand tightened around her blaster and the rough leather of her gloves prevented the weapon from slipping away. Sweat ran down her back with each step she took in the burning sand, half-expecting a squad of troopers to blast them down any second. Nothing came. The beach had already died.

Approaching the transport’s boarding ramp, Jyn quickly screened the inside for any sign of threat. “Cover me,” she said and forced herself to break her grip on Cassian. He ~~slumped~~ propped himself against the hull where he could cover her, and took his blaster in both hands. (Not his customary hold… maybe compensating for impaired vision or unsteady/injured arm or hand… whatever; he’d managed to shoot the shuttle’s intended passenger, on top of the tower.) In position, he gave her a nod. Her blaster in front of her, Jyn reached for a vibroblade with her other hand—more adequate for close-range combat—and boarded the shuttle.

She’d expected to find opponents, ranging from escaping tech to elite troopers, but the cargo was empty. She made her way towards the galley, throwing away some caution to compensate for the urgency of the situation.

Two things happened almost simultaneously: a shadow sprung out before her, and a blaster fired from behind her. The shot sailed over her shoulder and hit the shadow. She snapped her head around long enough to exchange a look with Cassian—him confirming the shot, her confirming her safety—before she turned to face the would-be assailant, now on the floor, fixing him in her own sights as she stepped closer… A freezing shock hit her system, reflected in the man’s eyes.

Lying in front of her, _Captain_ Dusting Pterro clutched his chest-wound, mouth contorted in a mixture of pain and incredulity. “You… _impossible—_ ”

“You didn’t kill that dirty whore well enough,” Jyn said and pressed the trigger. Her back hit the panelling. She stood unmoving for a few heartbeats until—

 _“ **Jyn**!” _Cassian’s shout… Something was… _terrible…_ She whipped again to see him pointing upward. She lunged to the nearest right-facing viewport, just in time to see… …?

… _oh stars…_

She could never have processed it if she hadn’t seen it before. Even so, she’d seen the aftermath on Jedha, not the impact. The top of the tower, where they’d transmitted and left Krennic, was… It didn’t explode or break or crumble like solid things were supposed to. It smoothly, softly… dissolved—sifted apart like sliding sand.

Eyes following the trajectory, she could never afterward tell which she’d registered first: the sight of the Death Star or the feel of the shockwave when the bolt through the tower hit the sea. A terror like she had never experienced before chilled her to the bones.

“Come on,” she urged the next second, pushing herself away from the viewport to run back to Cassian, “can you fly?” She hoped for a ‘yes’, or at least a ‘partially yes’. She could get away with cruising them, but going through an unassisted take-off was way above her competences.

“Yeah,” he panted. He flung his blaster into the cabin. It landed with a clatter. With his freed hands, one arm went around her shoulders so she could help him inside; the other reached to grasp any wall protuberances to accelerate them along. As they reached Pterro’s body, Cassian—not sparing an instant to show if he recognized him or not—grabbed a handhold to pull himself clear of Jyn, still in the direction of the cockpit. “He might… have clearance.”

“On it,” she said, crouching down to search the man’s pockets with a blank face. She didn’t find scandocs, transponder, anything valuable, and took her guess that the clearance codes were exclusively programmed into the on-board interface. With a code replicator and a few masters, she could’ve forged them anything. Right now, she had to hope that no one would fire at them before they could calculate a jump.

The engines roared to life. All systems coming online. A moment’s hesitation. Jyn grabbed the man’s wrists and dragged the dead body towards the back slop, arms and muscles burning from the effort. With a final push of her boot, she sent it off to lay abandoned on Scarif. With so many, far more worthy others. The loading ramp began to close as Jyn spun around and joined Cassian in the cockpit, her attention momentarily stolen by the sight of… She couldn’t describe it. She had seen it before, but this felt different. _Final_.

Cassian in the pilot’s seat seemed suddenly, incongruously, calm and centered; as if he _wasn’t_ direly hurt, as if his usual more-than-a-co-pilot wasn’t cruelly absent, as if the sea wasn’t boiling away and the planet wasn’t buckling beneath them. Less smoothly than Bodhi or Kaytoo, but still with the efficiency of a certified pilot, Cassian finished the hasty version of pre-flight procedures as Jyn jumped into the co-pilot’s seat.

“What do you need?” she asked, trying to get familiarized with the on-board computer as best as she could. She pulled up a data screen and went looking for the ship’s logs.

Being seated gave him back his breath. Having an immediate function gave him back his voice. “We don’t know what’s happening up there, with the fleet. Get ready on the comm if we need to bluff our way through or ID against friendly fire. Now…!”

‘Their’ new ship—brought by Pterro for Krennic and stolen from both—leaped off the planet’s surface. It jolted, not with resistance but with more sensitivity to Cassian’s steering than he’d clearly expected; and thank the Force for that because, even as he sent it screaming for atmo, the white-green light was piercing the vapor of the sea, coming for them fast.

As they ran ahead of the wave—like and so unlike when they had on Jedha—for just a moment, into Jyn’s mind, and probably Cassian’s… thoughts of everyone they might right now be leaving behind. Everyone who was surely dead but what if they weren’t but then were about to be. They couldn’t possibly have confirmed even if they’d had any time to do it. And who knows, maybe some of them had already escaped. (Though the way the comms had all gone quiet even before they reached the motionless beach…) Nothing could have been done differently. And they’d actually _accomplished_ what all of them had come for. They had done the mission right. _Please let them have known that_

They broke atmo. The sky turned from blue to black. They’d gotten above the shockwave in one piece. For just a moment, they looked down at it, how it spread across the world with intolerable, ghastly beauty. Focusing again on the approaching shield gate came as a mercy.

It wasn’t there anymore. Not _open:_ _gone_. The sensors figured it out after the visible wreckage clued them in—and a pretty strong clue: someone had _crashed a star destroyer_ into it.

The rest of the wreckage… A strangled sound died in the back of Cassian’s throat. His expression remained utterly blank; focused as he navigated them through this most gruesome of obstacle fields, channels thrown open for any chatter, picking up continuing dogfighting partway around the planet—had rotated around when focus no longer needed to be on the shield gate. Jyn split her attention from the computer to Cassian’s face, wondering if he would avoid or join into the remaining battle… but as they cleared the planet enough to see what was happening, it ended. Whatever was left of the Rebel fleet had fled or been destroyed. The Star Destroyer doing mop-up duty hadn’t picked them up, yet, before Cassian hit the switch and everything vanished into starlines.

Jyn looked down at the navcomp. Hyperspace calculations had completed… but she couldn’t tell where to. Either they were going to stay in hyperspace lanes until their fuel ran out, or they’d jump back to normal space… where? She’d just lifted her eyes to check in with Cassian, when his hands slipped from the controls.

Adrenaline of escape fading away, so too did the remaining color in his face. He sank in his chair, head falling back, and eyes rolled closed.

“No, no, _no_!”

Jyn bounced from her seat and hit the autopilot control to prevent them from entering a fatal dive. She reached for him, calling his name repeatedly, trying to gather any type of reaction. She checked his pulse, hands around his neck, feeling it weak and rapid. Without having any time to process what they had just escaped, another type of fear rushed through her at the sight of Cassian going into shock. “Cassian, open your eyes. Look at me, _Cassian_ —”

He didn’t respond. Jyn grabbed him under the arms and let out a scream of frustration/exhaustion/despair, trying to get him down from his seat to lay flat on the deck. Gods, she was _so_ fucking tired.

Without knowing how she gathered any remaining strength, Jyn managed to move him in the small space of the galley. Her own breath caught in her dry throat while she ripped his shirt open with frantic gestures.

_You were fine. Why didn’t you say— I’m going to kill you. You were fine. I’m not a medic. Don’t you dare._

“Cassian!”

Jyn had been shot a handful of times. She knew what a blasterburn looked like and had a pretty good idea of what could be considered fatal. Or maybe she didn’t—her brain didn’t seem to agree on certitudes at the moment. But if she had to _guess_ ( _ish’ka_ , she didn’t _want_ to), she’d say having been shot was the least of his problems. Its placement in the hollow of his shoulder and chest had worked so well to break his grip on the tower, but if it was going to hit anything more critical, it would’ve been his throat or his heart, in which case, he’d already be dead. It even _cauterized_ itself.

_Why are you thinking about that kid? Focus, Erso!_

If she had no bleeding wound to work on… then, far worse: internal traumas. (That fall… the sickening sound of impact, body on transparisteel… _twice…)_ She could’ve cried. She couldn’t accept it: making it out alive from this inferno just to see him die like this. Without her. She wanted to go back to that beach and wait for the blast to pulverize them into dust, holding together.

“Cassian, you promised!” she screamed, propping his feet on the edge of the seat to get some bloodflow coming down to vital organs.

The next moment, Jyn rushed through the ship. …an officer’s ship. _Krennic’s_ ship. He’d been right beside Galen in the blast on Eadu, and showed up on Scarif without a scratch. This ship had been waiting for him, right at the door, at the tail end of a battle. It had to be well-supplied. And, no matter how hard she tried to remember it never worked this way—still, if _anyone_ in the fucking universe _owed_ her… _Krennic… Force…_

She frantically opened any latch she could find, holding on to that last bit of hope. When she pulled out a heavy medpac from a rack, the weight of it almost made her double down to the ground with it. Hooked on the wall behind it: not just one but several ludicrous-looking, stupidly rare, miraculously bacta-supplying survival suits. A momentous win. Drenched in sweat and barely breathing, Jyn grabbed the closest one and didn’t even bother to think of the impossible task it would be to get Cassian in it by herself. No one else was here to help. _She_ was the backup. _She_ was the team, now.

“Alright”, she groaned, cutting through his remaining clothes with her vibroblade, “we’re doing this. We stole the only ship with a stock of Imperial bacta, you can’t let it go to waste. I’ll send them a holocard… ‘thanks for saving my rebel husband. suck it, banthafuckers’… Cassian, please, _please_.”

Her voice went through a wide range of emotions as she struggled and tirelessly harnessed Cassian with the survival suit. It took entirely too long for her liking, as if time had decided to dilate through the far corners of the galaxy. She had no data on the efficacy of the portable version of a bacta tank. She missed Kay. So fucking much.

At last, her unsteady hands fastened the closing collar around Cassian’s neck. She plugged in all the bacta packs she could gather from the medkit. The thick, gelatinous substance filled the suit, in direct contact with his skin. Even through layers of flexpoly, the smell of synthetic pineapple disturbingly made her stomach turn.

Jyn fell down on her knees, stock-still, muscles cramped, chest heavy. She bent down and touched her forehead to his, _praying_. “Stay with me, my love.”

⁂

_\- Open your eyes - look at me -_

He looked up. Xol Khryw sat on the outcrop above him, one boot braced so she could use her knee as a work surface, assembling a weapon. Cassian looked at the obsidian below him—rock that had melted and flowed and resolidified in patterns mocking its stable form. He pushed himself up by his palms. He stood; automatically, uselessly knocked the dust from his hands and knees, and went to sit beside Khryw.

“Make yourself useful,” she said, shoving a pile of pieces into his hands.

He managed to keep them all in his lap; in the same reality-defying way in which he sat beside Khryw as an adult even though she’d died when he was a child. He started assembling them without focusing on them, his hands working as mechanically as the thing they were building.

“You left me,” he said.

_\- You promised -_

“I never said you could keep me,” said Khryw. “We tried to warn you.”

“I know.”

Khryw reached over to connect his project to hers. Cassian looked at the thing that had taken shape. It was an inactive (dead) KX droid.

_\- We’re doing this -_

“You never got it, did you?” said Khryw.

“I don’t know. Which ‘it’?”

“That’s the Houjix,” said Khryw. “I can’t tell you.”

“Figures.”

She set the KX in a seated position on the outcrop between them. She patted its shoulder and pushed herself up by it.

_\- you can’t let it go to waste -_

“You did promise, though,” said Khryw. “Even though you never said it to her. Even though nobody knows it. The Force does. If you let go now, you’ll never make good.”

“I don’t want to let go,” said Cassian.

_\- stay with me -_

“Then don’t,” said Khryw. “Outlive. Survive. Go back and train that little girl. In the meantime, _live._ Live out your other promise.”

_\- my love -_

“This isn’t how you’d be advising me,” said Cassian with mournful wryness.

“How do you know?” said Khryw with a half-smile. “I might’ve surprised you.”

If this were a lucid dream, maybe he’d’ve made her kiss his forehead. Instead, she rapped her knuckles on his skull. “ _À la prochaine, gamin.”_

She stepped back, and the KX turned its head. It said: “Wake up _now_ ”

Cassian opened his eyes.

The pressured, _sucking_ pain in his chest was eased. All the acutest edges felt softened. His back and arm still felt like they were being pulled, but even that was gentled. Headache and spinning vision: gone. Direst sensations catalogued, he checked in with the rest… the cloying stickiness of bacta, the vaguest feeling of floating, but not like in a tank…

His mind and his vision finally recollided and he was able to match thoughts and feelings with sight. Where he was… and when… and with whom.

“Jyn?” he called.

A distant Rodian curse answered him, a rushed commotion, and she materialized right in his line of sight, looking at him with bloodshot eyes. “I can’t believe you almost— Cassian— I’m— you fucking idiot— Cassian.” She sank to the ground next to him and, as he had so rarely seen her do, broke down into tears.

He still hadn’t quite identified the situation, but that wasn’t going to stop him from turning onto his side and taking her in his arms. …Well, putting his arms around her. Which provided the missing piece re: what was happening: he was in one of those stupid-looking bacta suits—which he was never going to make fun of again, ’cause clearly it had _worked._ He found the parts of himself that were unimpeded—his hands and face—and moved those to her; touching foreheads, cupping her cheek. _“Jyn.”_

She nodded, trying to contain herself, touching his face with gentle hands, cradling. “It’s okay, sorry— nerves.”

His mind spun not with concussion but with…

“It’s done?” he whispered. “We made it?”

“We made it. We’re alive. It’s done.” Pulling herself together, Jyn slightly frowned and scanned him like an X-ray. “How do you feel? I did what I could but… It’s only been a couple of hours. I’m almost done bypassing the ship transponder.” No tracking, then. Free to go wherever. Seeing the worried look in her eyes, she meant: somewhere with proper medical assistance.

He gave another try at embracing her and was again held up by the survival suit. “This is the most undignified thing I’ve ever been in.” Brushing her face with the words as he couldn’t quite navigate his hands. “I feel… okay. Before, there was…” He didn’t want to go into what the gravity suck of internal bleeding felt like. She knew, too, anyway. “…I feel okay.” _Asshole, you owe her more._ “Enough still hurting so I know I’m not in shock, but much better than before.” He tilted his face to hers again, feeling the tears still on her face, all of it slowly falling into place and catching up to him. _Thank you I’m sorry all the things you probably don’t want me to say—_ “You saved me.”

She started to laugh, almost breaking into tears again, in a curious mix of opposite emotions. “I need… I need a kriffin’ break. Cass— it’s done.” Pulling herself upright, Jyn wiped the last of her tears with both hands and took a steady breath. “I couldn’t move you from the deck. And I had to cut your clothes…”

“Half Imperial,” he said with easy disgust. “Good riddance.”

Oh yeah, that’s right… He’d still been half undercover. …Because they’d infiltrated… he and Jyn and…

_[[ locking the vault door now ]]_

“I’d leave you in that thing forever if it was up to me,” she said, “but we’re out of bacta.”

Cassian forced himself to speak the thoughts; not just let them die. “I promise not to push. But I’m okay enough. I can tell.”

And pfassk did he want to be able to touch her. _Hold her. Be held by her. Feel with every sense he had that they **were** still, really, alive. Be able to hang on as the memories caught up, like waves coming in…_

Consciousness properly returning felt like… how Cassian imagined a droid might limp through total fragmentation. Hopping from function to function, each genuine but free-falling, somehow simulating normal cohesion while unprecedentedly—

 _Your metaphor is terrible,_ said a mental projection of Kaytuesso, giving Cassian the idea of slamming his face to the deck and screaming, because that was the only version of Kay’s voice he’d ever hear again

_Feeling it still too far away… that will be the feeling later… right now… what…_

There was something else necessary, first… before whatever came next… _dear Force… ‘ **next** ’…? suicide missions aren’t supposed to have a ‘next’…_

_[[ goodbye ]]_

Before she could move out of his reach, even to help him off with the ridiculous suit, Cassian tried one more time and this time succeeded in catching her hand in his.

“Your father would have been proud of you, Jyn,” he said.

She stopped, tilted her head, and every line of her face softened. “He would have so liked you.”

_Would he have…? Shhh; not that, now. Anyway, she knows better._

“Let me get this off,” she offered.

The process was painstakingly involved. How had she managed it when he was deadweight? No complaint. (Moments in history could have changed… if certain armies could have escaped illness or injury…) It was miraculous enough that they’d found a ship at all. If it hadn’t been an _officer’s,_ this wouldn’t have been on it, and Cassian would be dead. Which was a dreadful idea in that it would be him committing on Jyn the same crime too many others had already done; and, so doing, break his promise.

Jyn unclasped the last of the sealings and grabbed the remains of his shirt to wipe some of the residue left on his skin. “Try to sit up? _Slowly_.” He obeyed for her more than he might have himself, settling back to the bulwark. The pain in his side (where he’d hit the crossbeam) was a strange relief. If there were _nothing_ , now, he’d be suspicious, not only of his condition but of reality itself. The pain meant _it happened,_ _yes, really, still alive._

The soft touch of Jyn’s fingers on his neck was another anchor to reality, even when she was busy taking his pulse with sharp concern. “How is it?” she asked. “Do you want painkillers?”

“…N…o. Thank you.” With their trajectory uncertain, better save their resources. And the pain now wasn’t self-punishment, it was self-observation. (…As well as… simpler, easier to grapple with, than its impending emotional counterpart.)

“Alright…” she held his face for a moment, lips pressed tight together. “I’ll find you a flysuit.”

Again, he reached and caught her hand. Drew her gently back to him, running his finger along her palm. “You? Any pain?”

She dismissed the question with a shake of her head. “Just some ugly bruising. I’ll be fine after a shower and three months of sleep.” A little smile at the corner of her mouth. “Preferably next to you.”

 _Why was **that** what did it…_ Suddenly overcome and drained, he nodded, and pressed another fierce, quick kiss to her hand before letting his fall away. Coming down from survival mode would mean the free-fall into … _all of it._ But they’d already proved—to themselves with one another—they _could_ do it, side-by-side.

⁂

Jyn didn’t get to have a shower just yet, but she could at least get some sleep—which was probably more vital anyway. She’d expected to blackout as soon as her level of alertness would drop, but even as exhausted as she was, her sleep only occurred through fragmentation, a few hours at a time. She kept jumping out of terrible replays from Scarif, everything they had done, everything she wished they could have done… the smell of that beach and the fire and the smoke and… only for her brain to get back online and register the slow rhythm of ion engines, the comfortable (non-threatening) silence, and the smell of dried bacta. _Breathe in, breathe out._

Perched above the flight deck for pilot rotation, the utilitarian bunk would’ve fit them both if they tried hard enough. Jyn had insisted they did _not_ try. The last thing she wanted right now was for Cassian to snap a few vertebrae. She’d dragged whatever she could move from the bedroll to the middle of the galley and lay down ‘preferably next to him’.

She wondered if he slept at all while they kept drifting through hyperspace like lost travelers. Her fingers moved from under a thermal blanket to brush the side of his face, feeling his skin soft and warm. Checking beyond any rationality that he was still alive.

There were things nobody could understand who hadn’t been through them. They could have empathy, give love and support, perspective—wisdom—even revelation; they were just fundamentally a different species. Jyn and Cassian had recognized one another from the start as—among other things—the same creature.

In the last two years acting as the Shift-Alliance liaisons, they’d only seen each other in quick snatches of time… but those were enough, on top of the foundations they’d defied the Universe to lay for themselves on Ord Mantell, to have seen each other through so much. Jyn watched and listened to and held and was held by Cassian now, able to tell acutely what was going on; the _mercy_ of physical injury allowing focus and sleep that aphysical pain would have made impossible. Understanding that helped her stay calm through his starts and fits, and keep her a little more grounded through hers.

This wouldn’t be linear. It never was. One tried to force it to be when they had survival or other agendas to worry about. Right now… they drifted in physical and emotional void, grateful beyond belief to be alive together, and to, miraculously, already know how to trust and accept this unique company.

“Cassian,” she whispered, knowing from his breathing pattern that he wasn’t asleep.

His arms tightened around her. Two years and he still always worried about the possibility of treating her like a means to an end; but for the last few hours, the way he’d kept his chest so tight against her back had made her start to feel like she was staunching a wound. She was okay doing that.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“If you just had me, and nothing else… nothing to fight for anymore… would it be enough?”

He touched his nose and lips to her nape. His breath tingled her hair. He held that way for a moment; when his voice came back, it had no hesitation or uncertainty. “It might be _more.”_

Jyn dared to take another breath, her insides turning around. “That one time, on Ord Mantell, when I offered to make us different people… I still can… if you want to. Jeron and Seren could live the most boring life on the most boring planet and no one would ever know.”

Another stillness… that once might have alarmed her, but she’d come to understand. Movement resumed with his arm uncurling around her, bringing his hand to her head, brushing back her hair, and impelling her to turn over to face him.

“We’re gonna be presumed dead,” he said slowly. “We might… even be… more useful, like that.”

She nodded, mind racing. “Saw told me once, ‘the resistance needs a martyr. A tragedy. Something so horrific that people can’t help but stand up and fight, too.’ I think… they picked up that fight on Scarif. If you want to go back and be a part of it, I’ll be with you… but I don’t know if I can take another close-call like this one.”

His eyes swept her face, coming to rest to watch the movement of her lips. His distant expression… again… somehow, not frightening, the way it might be if he were anyone else—even than _he_ had been in the past.

“I don’t know if I can leave the fight,” he said at last. “…I mean… someday, I may ask you if we should go back. But right now… I think we should finally get our asses to Halcyon.”

Her eyes grew wider. “I think so, too,” was all she managed before losing her capacity to speak.

As carefully as she could, Jyn pressed closer to leave a kiss on his lips. He met and joined her in it. Then they took hold of each other again, not for dear life, but to melt and merge into each other because it was only natural, more natural than they’d ever felt alone; both singularly and in conjunction, blazing with too many emotions to feel at once but would keep burning through them for whatever unprecedented, unimagined quantity might now constitute _the rest of their lives;_ finally let their almost-but-still-not-broken bodies sink softly down (still together), and it made no difference to their sight: keeping their eyes closed with faces touching, or opening them to look out together at the starlines.

They drifted, cocooned, for time counted in spells in sleep and partial ration bars and stargazing, until Cassian (with a limp he’d probably never lose again) could stand. Then they went to the cockpit. Taking the pilot and co-pilot’s seats felt like the biggest hurdle either had ever crossed.

But they did it. And Cassian took them off autopilot while Jyn sliced in their new coordinates. In their ship that was their freedom that they’d stolen back from those who’d thought they’d taken it for keeps.

They looked at each other across the small console and endless sea of stars.

Jyn felt her lips curve in the tiniest arc. “Good?” she challenged him.

Cassian joined her orbit. It was the one he’d wanted all along. He smiled back. “Good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WE LOVE YOU GUYS SO MUCH, we ardently, devotedly, tearfully thank each other and all of you for this exceptionally wonderful experience writing and sharing, too much love to write, and we look forward to more in the future :-) <3


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